His head reappeared above the fence, one arm hooked over the top. “Be quiet, payilas.”
“Help me over.”
“No. Stay there.”
I glowered up at him. “If you don’t help me over the fence, I’ll start yelling.”
He bared his teeth, pointed canines gleaming. I held my ground, waiting.
“Mailēshta,” he grumbled.
He swung over the fence and landed beside me. Snatching me by the waist, he threw me over his armored left shoulder, sprang off the ground, and performed a smooth one-handed vault over the eight-foot barrier. He dropped neatly to the ground, pulled me off his shoulder, and dumped me at his feet—silently.
Without a word, he was in motion again. I scrambled after him, wheezing from the recent compression of my diaphragm. The neighbor’s property was heavily treed compared to Uncle Jack’s and I winced with each muffled crunch underfoot. We got all of ten feet before Zylas stopped again.
“I’m trying to—” I began in a defensive whisper.
He turned, swept an arm around me, and clamped his other hand over my mouth. I stiffened, my nose full of his hickory-and-leather scent.
“I hear movement,” he hissed almost soundlessly. “I smell blood, but not from this direction.”
His arm tightened around my middle, lifting my feet off the ground, and he slid into a winter-bare thicket. He sank into a crouch, pulling me with him, and squeezed my jaw in warning before releasing me.
I knelt, his heat at my back, and strained my ears. I picked up the same faint squelching noise I’d made while walking through the soggy leaf litter. Thirty feet ahead, a shadow moved among the trees—a man picking his way through the bushes. Crouched behind me, Zylas shifted onto the balls of his feet, his chin almost on my shoulder as he watched the figure.
He sprang up.
I gasped as he whirled in the opposite direction of the man in the trees. Twisting around, I glimpsed Zylas’s unsheathing claws and the flash of steel through the foliage.
“Stop!” I yelled.
Zylas froze, and so did the petite woman with her massive broadsword aimed at the demon’s chest. For a long moment, no one moved, then the woman relaxed her stance and set the point of her sword on the ground.
“Zora?” I ventured, unsure whether to believe my eyes. What on earth was she doing here?
“Robin.” She grinned apologetically. “Not what I was expecting out here! So this is your demon?”
She scanned him curiously. He shifted into a neutral stance, staring blankly like an obedient slave to my will. I gulped for air, hoping Zora assumed my shouted command had been directed at her and not my demon. Contractors didn’t control their demons with verbal commands.
Branches snapped behind me and I jumped in fright, almost crashing into Zylas. A man pushed through the thicket to join us. He was stocky and muscular, with his hair shaved on the sides of his head and the rest combed straight back.
“What’s this?” he asked in surprise. “A demon?”
“Remember Robin, our new contractor?” Zora rested her sword on her shoulder like a baseball bat. “Robin, this is Drew, my partner today.”
“Hi,” I mumbled. “What are you doing out here?”
“Hunting,” she said brightly. “Though we probably spooked it with all that noise.”
“Spooked … what?”
“The vampire.”
I stared at her. Zora was hunting a vampire … and Zylas had been tracking the scent of fresh blood. That probably wasn’t a coincidence.
“So,” she drawled, noting my shocked expression, “I’m guessing you aren’t hunting the vamp. What brings you all the way out here, then?”
“Uhh …” I cleared my throat. “I’m investigating a … rumor about Demonica. Illegal Demonica.”
Her eyes lit up like I’d revealed there was buried treasure in this backyard. “Ooh, exciting. Our guild usually skips the Demonica postings, since we don’t—or didn’t—have any contractors. What are the details of the—”
“Zora,” Drew interrupted dryly, “we should deal with the vamp first. It’s close.”
“Right, back to the hunt. Wanna come along, Robin?”
“Huh? Me?”
“Sure. I’ve never seen a demon take on a vamp before. It’ll be interesting.”
I gulped, unsure if I could say no without raising suspicion. “I don’t know anything about vampires.”
“Crash course, then! Walk and talk, my girl.”
She marched past me and Zylas, who hadn’t so much as blinked during our conversation. Cringing, I fell into step beside her and Zylas followed, walking woodenly. Drew cut sideways into the trees, taking a different route.
Zora glanced back. “Gotta say, that’s kind of creepy. I figured you’d put the demon in front so you could see what you’re doing with it.”
I smiled wanly. “Direct line of sight is helpful but not necessary for a contractor.”
Thank goodness I’d been studying up on how all this worked—though I wouldn’t want to risk talking shop with another contractor.
“So, um, vampires?” I prompted before she could ask me anything else.
She plucked what looked like a short stick with a red marble on its end from her belt. The orb glowed faintly. “Most important tool for vampire hunting: a blood tracker. This baby is spelled to react to nearby vampires. If it’s glowing, we’re going the right way. The brighter it glows, the closer the vamp.”
As she spoke, she swung it side to side. The glow dimmed as she pointed it east and brightened when she aimed it north.
I glanced at the overcast sky, masked by tree branches, but didn’t ask if vampires could go out in the sun. I’d never studied them, but Ancient Tales of Mythic Hunters, one of my favorite history texts, included a story about two famous vampire hunters of the fifteenth century, a sorceress and a heliomage. Part of their technique had been to find the vampires’ nests during daylight hours, when the vampires were slower and weaker.
“Vamps are, generally speaking, a bit faster than a human,” Zora explained, aiming her blood-tracker artifact. “At night, or right after feeding, they’re quite a bit faster. They aren’t particularly strong, though.”
“Okay,” I agreed, not at all comforted, seeing as every adult biped on the planet was already stronger than me.
“The most important thing is don’t let it bite you,” she warned, lowering her voice as the blood tracker glowed brighter. “Their saliva will—”
A high-pitched yowl cut through the chill air.
Zora shoved her artifact into her belt and launched forward, sword poised for combat. I glanced back at Zylas with wide eyes, and he gave his head a slight “go already” tilt.
I raced after the swordswoman and Zylas followed on my heels. He could have outpaced all the humans easily, but he seemed to prefer a cautious approach. That or he wasn’t sure how well we could keep up the farce of our contract with witnesses.
Zora cut around a manicured hedge as another shrill cry erupted. This time, I recognized it not as a human voice but an animal. I whipped after her, then slid to a halt.
A small gazebo was nestled in the trees beside a pond, and stepping stones wound away toward the sprawling mansion up the slope. Crouched in front of the gazebo, his hunched back facing us, was a man in ragged clothing—jeans, a t-shirt, no shoes.
Zora charged, swift and silent. The man sprang up and whirled around. In one hand, he held a small, furry animal. Blood smeared his mouth and jaw beneath hollow cheeks. His elbow joints were the thickest parts of his arms, his hands disturbingly large next to his emaciated wrists.
But his eyes were what horrified me—it was like someone had inverted them. His sclera were pitch black, while the irises and pupils were pearly white with the faintest red ring bordering the two colors.
He threw the limp animal aside and launched at Zora with his mouth gaping and curved fangs stained red. I thought the vampire would spear himself on her blade, but
he twisted at the last moment, the point missing him as he grabbed for her face.
She ducked his grasping hand and spun, her blade sinking deep into the back of his thigh. The vampire took one staggering step, then lunged for her. She darted backward—
A small object flew out of the trees and slammed into the vampire’s skull with a sickening crunch.
The vampire pitched over sideways. A man strode out of the trees—Drew, Zora’s partner. He had both hands extended, his face hard with concentration. Above the vampire, a steel orb the size of a softball rose another foot, then plunged downward.
Grunting wetly, the vampire rolled clear an instant before the orb struck the ground with enough force to send up a geyser of mud. He stumbled onto his feet, wavering unsteadily. As he turned, my stomach jumped into my throat.
The steel orb’s first strike had collapsed the vampire’s right temple. How was the creature still standing?
He regained his bearings—somehow, despite part of his brain being mulched—and his sinister eyes swept across Zora and Drew, then found Zylas and me, standing at the edge of the trees.
The vampire’s mouth fell open, fangs on full display. With a gurgling snarl, he leaped toward us, as fast as he’d moved before Zora chopped his leg and Drew bashed his skull in. I backpedaled with a terrified gasp.
Zylas stepped forward, his hand flashing up. His palm smacked into the vampire’s face and he slammed the creature over backward. Bone crunched against the ground.
“Perfect!” Zora yelled. “Hold it there!”
Zylas held the writhing vampire down by his face as Zora sprinted over. She raised her sword, blade pointed downward, and rammed it into the vampire’s chest. His struggles stilled.
She yanked her sword out, oblivious to the gore, while I fought to keep my stomach where it belonged. Zylas released the vampire and backed up to stand beside me like an inanimate puppet.
“If you want to stop a vampire, take off the head,” she said clinically, pulling a rag from her back pocket and wiping off her blade. “If you want to kill the vampiric spirit, stab it through the heart.”
“Oh,” I said faintly. “That’s … I see.”
“I thought for a second there you’d frozen, but you got your demon moving in time. It’s a fast one, eh? Nicely done.”
“Yeah,” Drew agreed, joining us. “Good job, Robin.”
His unusual weapon hovered by his right elbow as effortlessly as a soap bubble, and I could only assume he was a telekinetic. I wondered how much that steel orb weighed.
My gaze flicked down to the vampire. “It … didn’t die from … from the, uh …”
“Guess where zombie stories really come from?” Zora sheathed her weapon over her shoulder. “The vampiric spirit will keep the body moving, even if it’s mortally wounded. You have to take off the head or damage the heart to kill it. Though, if you inflict lethal injuries, it’ll eventually stop moving—after a few hours.”
I shuddered violently. “By vampiric spirit, you mean fae possession, right?”
“Yep.” She nudged the dead vampire with her boot. “This person was possessed and turned a long time ago. You can tell by how emaciated and sickly he looks, plus his behavior. The old vampires are the most bloodthirsty and wild. Once they can no longer impersonate a human, they deteriorate quickly. They’ll attack anything.”
Anything—like that small animal. Turning, I darted toward the gazebo. A dark shape lay in the grass and I knelt beside it. The vampire’s victim was a young cat—a leggy, half-grown kitten with black fur and three white paws. My chest constricted as I stroked its bloody fur.
A tiny mew escaped it. It was alive?
I unzipped my coat and pulled it off. Ignoring the cold wind cutting through my sweater, I bundled up the kitten and lifted it into my arms.
“Cats can’t get turned into vampires, right?” I asked Zora.
“No, but I’m not sure a cat can survive a—”
“I need to go. Come on, Z—” I caught myself, biting off Zylas’s name. “I mean, are you coming, Zora? Or staying here?”
“We have to report the kill and wait for MPD cleanup,” Zora replied. “If you stay, you can have a cut of the bounty. You did—”
“That’s fine. It’s all yours.” I hurried past them, silently asking Zylas to follow me. “See you later!”
They called bemused farewells as I took off through the trees, my demon on my heels and a precious bundle in my arms.
Chapter Six
“Hey, kitty,” I murmured. “How are you doing?”
I knelt beside a large dog crate, holding a cat treat through the bars. Inside was a fluffy cat bed, scattered mouse toys, a litter box, a water dish, and a food bowl full of drying chicken pâté. The vampire’s victim crouched on the small bed, huge green eyes fixed on my face and tail fluffed to twice its size.
“It’s okay, little girl,” I cooed. “Want a nibble? It’s a yummy treat. You need to eat to get strong again.”
The frightened, half-grown kitten let out a low warning growl. Sighing, I dropped the treat through the bars, then crawled backward before rising to my feet. The vet had said the kitten should recover with food and rest, but she’d gone almost twenty hours without eating a bite.
I hadn’t specifically intended to adopt the cat, merely get her to a vet before she died, but someone had to take care of her. The vet had assured me—after I’d invented a story about finding the injured animal in an alley—that the kitten’s chances of survival would be much better with me than at a shelter, but if she wouldn’t eat, what good was my care?
I turned toward my bedroom door and started in surprise. Zylas was leaning against the threshold, arms crossed and light gleaming across his left armguard.
“Why are you wasting time?” he asked in a low, biting tone.
Ignoring his question, I squeezed past him into the apartment’s main living area. It wasn’t much—at one end, a tiny kitchen with a short breakfast bar that fit two stools, and at the other, a living room overflowing with a single couch, a coffee table, and a small TV on a cheap stand.
The TV was secondhand. Amalia had purchased a brand new one to start, and after setting it up, she’d made me give Zylas a stern lecture about treating it with care. He’d put his barbed tail through the screen ten minutes later.
Keeping a demon entertained wasn’t easy. He could survive a few days without anything to do, but then the restlessness set in. And a restless demon was destructive.
He could speak English but couldn’t read it, so books weren’t an option, and he hated screens. After questioning him, I discovered framerates that appeared smooth to the human eye were aggravatingly choppy to him. So all TV, movies, and video games were out. How did you keep a battle-hardened demon entertained in an 800-square-foot apartment?
A few days into the pinnacle of my flu, I’d sent Amalia to the department store with my credit card and begged her to bring back every game she could find. Zylas wouldn’t touch most of them, but when Amalia dumped a 500-piece puzzle onto the floor, he’d wandered over to watch.
Amalia spent four hours on the puzzle, then broke it apart, shook up the pieces, and dumped it out for Zylas, daring him to beat her time. He laid all the pieces out face-up as she had, then, for a full ten minutes, he simply stared at the disassembled puzzle.
Just as Amalia and I wondered if he understood the game, he picked up two pieces and fit them together. Then picked another out of the 498 scattered bits and fit it in. Then the next. Then the next. One by one, he fit each piece together, only occasionally needing to test two or three to find the right one. If he got it wrong, he set the piece back in its original spot.
We watched speechlessly as he assembled the puzzle in minutes.
The next day, Amalia returned with a 1000-piece puzzle. He did the exact same thing, staring at the pieces—not even sorting them first—before assembling the puzzle as though following invisible instructions. We watched him complete four puzzles before I
figured out what he was doing.
He was memorizing the pieces. Every one—its color, shape, and location. Then, as he started assembling, he would recall which pieces might match and where they were among the hundreds of others.
I’d known his memory was sharp, but his ability to memorize tiny details in a matter of minutes was beyond comprehension. If I dared to arm him with any new skills, I could teach him to read in a matter of hours. He could memorize letters and words faster than any human. His steel-trap memory also explained how he’d adapted so quickly to a foreign world.
I wondered if he ever forgot anything.
In the main room, Amalia sat on a kitchen stool, her blond hair twisted into a messy bun as she sifted through the documents we’d found in Uncle Jack’s safe. I slid into the spot beside her, still ignoring Zylas, who was literally breathing down the back of my neck.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“Nothing about safe houses or sanctuaries.” She slapped her hands down on her thighs. “The documents are all legal contracts and business agreements for everyone my dad deals with. Guilds, contractors, summoners, rogues, criminals, forgers …”
I tugged at the infernus chain resting against my neck. “Unless this was all your dad kept in his safe, whoever broke into it took everything else. What do you think they were looking for?”
“My dad’s location, just like us. He—”
With an effortless jump, Zylas landed on the counter and sat on the edge, watching us with unreadable crimson eyes. He kept one heel on the counter, arm propped on his raised knee, his other leg hanging off the edge beside me.
Scowling at the demon, Amalia continued, “My dad isn’t stupid—usually—but he has a weakness for money. He never should’ve revealed to a rogue guild like Red Rum that he had a new demon name. I’m sure rumors have leaked out by now, especially since your bloodthirsty pal there killed so many Red Rum rogues.”
I shuddered at the reminder.
“I’d guess a lot of people are looking for Dad, hoping to get their hands on that demon name before he sells it too many times and the value drops.”
Slaying Monsters for the Feeble: The Guild Codex: Demonized / Two Page 5
