I left my plate, heading across the kitchen for the garage door. Osamu pulled the door open for me. I went through. He followed. I paused and held up a hand. “Stay here. Protect our guests while I’m gone. Something dangerous may be lurking about, biding its time. Don’t drop your guard.”
He bowed. “Yes, Caine-sama, you may depend on me.”
I got inside my ‘96 black Mustang, and put my finger on the scanner to start the engine. I pulled out into the street, surveying the area. Haziar stood out front like an oversized lawn ornament, scenting the wind, watching for an enemy horde to descend upon us. I knew the subtlety of evil. When the attack came, it would be swift and crushing, springing from nowhere.
That’s how I’d do it.
I stopped halfway down the drive and called to him. “Hey, anybody asks what you’re doing standing around in that get-up, just say ‘cosplay.’” It was better they thought him a die-hard anime fan than a freaking elf.
Mouthing the new word, a questioning look on his face, he watched me drive off.
I passed Izumi’s house. Her lights were on. A lace curtain moved. An ice-pale face stared out. Her breath frosted the window, blurring her nakedness. Damn tease. She was Winter Court fey, but used a glamour that gave her an Asian appearance. She’d always been intrigued by the similarity of winter fey to the yuki-onna, the snow women of Japanese legends. This was her way of having a foot in two worlds.
I smiled as I drove on, knowing who I’d be doing tonight.
Driving in from Malibu with the top down, I cranked the radio, sharing my wonderful taste in Goth metal porn-rock with everyone in range. Forty-five minutes later, I’d penetrated L.A., reaching the parking lot of the Velvet Door. Claude the doorman saw me coming, a big man with all the beauty of a troll. He leaped to open the door for me. He’d once made the mistake of trying to keep me out, fishing for a bribe. There were several dents in the alley dumpster the same size as his head. You get good service when you show someone you can kill them any time you want.
Inside the bar, black tables and chairs added contrast to the red carpeting that washed up against matching walls, where assorted clan symbols hung, showing this was neutral territory, a no-kill zone. Twenty-five hundred years old and holding, Gloria owned the bar and made sure everyone behaved. She had the hot body of a seventeen-year-old girl. Five-foot-four, a hundred and fifteen pounds, but she could rip out a heart in a blink.
Just thinking about it got me hard.
As the only pure blood—vampire royalty—I’d ever seen close to L.A., she could function during daylight like a dhampyr, and not be chained to her coffin, an expression of power that set her apart from her kind. We’d made a choice to remain close friends by staying out of the same bed. Neither of us wanted to damage what we had. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t dream with my eyes wide open.
I waded through a light crowd to the bar where she mixed drinks. Her smile, never far away, stretched out a bit more. Ever since the night of the red moon when she’d had some of my blood, hunger had haunted her eyes when they flashed welcome. There was something about my blood that made it extra tasty to vamps, giving them an uncommon high.
Neither Gloria nor the Old Man would tell me why this was so.
Like always, the half-angel Gray sat at the end of the bar in his Raiders jacket. His hair looked like wilted spikes. His eyes were filmy white. His wrinkled khaki pants were stained, like he’d slept in them, repeatedly. Long ago, he’d said “fuck you” to Heaven and Hell, siding with anarchy, throwing his lot in with humankind. Like Kimberley, my friend was born with the sight, and often had a piece of prophecy for me to chew over. Unfortunately, by the time his insights made sense, they were too late to be useful.
I took a seat at the bar, nodding his way.
He nodded back. His gaze came up, boring a hole in my shirt. The red pearl I wore—hidden from view—felt warm against my skin. He said, “Playing with fire, son, playing with fire.”
I grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Green is the worst.”
“Green fire?” I stared at him. “There’s no such thing, unless you’re burning copper.”
His eyes went vague, staring into an impossible distance. “I know what I have dreamed.” He got up and came over to stand beside me. His stare was no longer distant. He peered down into my face. He reached out to touch my head.
I caught his hand. “What are you doing?”
“You need this,” he said. “You need to see what I dreamed.”
I considered. “You’re not just screwing with me, are you?”
“Your answers are in my dreams. We do this now, or you’ll be blindsided later. My word on the necessity.”
I let go of his wrist. “All right, do it.”
He touched the side of my head with splayed fingers. The world around me vanished as I
was sucked down into a microcosm of black. A pool of color spread out at my feet. I dropped into the pool and it became a dim room, the surrounding walls were stone, heavily shadowed. Murmured words, like hissing serpents, bounced back.
Gray and I stood midair. Below us, a table—massive and dark—gleamed with light from two antique Tiffany lamps. Water pitchers and a coffee mess waited on a trolley off to the side. A dozen people, mostly men, had faces shadowed by hooded, black silk cloaks. The material spilled down their back, adding extra padding to the hand-carved chairs. The men wore bright colored tunics, with puffy-sleeved shirts and vests. The women wore shimmering gowns. They wore necklaces and rings that stirred up lust in my heart.
And none of them seemed aware of Gray or me listening in. Turning to me, the half-angel looked haggard. Within this dream, his blind eyes glowed soft white like icy stars. “These are the ones that sent the succubus and warlock against you on the night of the red moon. You should know that they are not done with you, being what you are.”
A gray-haired man at the head of the table slapped the surface with the flat of his hand, calling for order. “This family has better things to do than bicker. We will all have a chance to test the upstart. If he is worthy, he will live. If his blood is too thin, too tainted, he will die, simplifying matters greatly. I claim the right to go next. Now be quiet, and pay attention. My chosen agent is at hand.” He raised his voice, calling out into the shadows, “Send her in.”
“Her?” I said.
“The next assassin,” Gray said.
A woman wearing a black dress with sea-foam green lace cuffs and collar approached the table. Her raven hair was piled high. Her eyes were hazel. She was stout, solidly built with an abundance of muscle. She wore no weapons. There was nothing of grace in her approach, but rather confident strength, as if she expected all obstacles to flee her path.
“You have summoned me?” Her stare slid from face to face along the table.
The gray-haired man at the head of the table spoke, “I have summoned you.” He spun a photograph across the table. Members of the group helped it along until the assassin plucked it up. The photo was one of me, taken within Gloria’s bar. As expected, I had a drink in my hand.
“Why should I care who you want dead?” she asked.
“We pay well,” the old man said.
“I have simple needs. A new life with one who can love such as me. I only came out of respect. I do not intend to take this job.”
The gray-haired man didn’t seem surprised. “You will soon have reason to kill this man. He is the destroyer of your world, though you know it not.”
She threw the picture back on the table. “No means no. You don’t have the power to break my curse. I don’t need you.”
The old man stood. “We can intervene on your behalf with the forest clans you offended. We can’t guarantee anything, of course, but … they will listen to us. All we ask in return is that you destroy Caine Deathwalker. Go back to your lover in Texas and think on our words.”
The woman held very still. “If any of you think to force me by threateni
ng the one I love—”
Gray-hair shook his head, holding out his palms, waving them side to side. “Oh, no, such ugliness is appalling to creatures of our refinement. We ask nothing you aren’t willing to give. Even we fear the curse-bound creature that serves you.” He paused, considering a sudden thought. “Or do you serve it?”
Her hands curled into smoldering fists. Green flames ran up her arms, then died away. With no further word, she turned and left the room.
The darkness around the walls rushed in, swamping out the light. Full darkness spun me around, carrying me away, back to…
Gloria’s bar. She came over and leaned against the bar. “What do you boys want?”
My throat was dry as Mars. “Ketel One and Red Bull,” I rasped.
“Excellent choice.” She moved off to get my drink going, while I considered all that Gray had shown me.
He nodded to himself, muttering once more as he returned to his stool, “Playing with fire.”
I think he meant my ordered drink, not the lady assassin. Most people mix the energy drink with vodka to bond sugar to the alcohol. This gives you an immediate buzz, sweetness with a bite that goes down smooth. Unless you stand up suddenly, it takes about twenty minutes for the caffeine to start bouncing you off the walls. Most people can handle two of these drinks before hitting their limit. With my well-developed resistance to alcohol, I can usually manage five three-inch glasses before smashing my face into the floor, or going into a berserker rage, killing everything in sight. I doubted this last was going to occur, or Gray would have gotten up and left the bar.
I called to Gloria, “By the way, have you seen the werekitties hanging around?”
“Your little playmates? The ladies were here last night, asking about you.” Her stare grazed my neck. From the corner of my eye I saw Gray studying us both.
I frowned at her, giving her a hard stare I knew would make no impression. “Gloria, you’re making me feel like a rare piece of meat.”
Her eyes widened and flared a deep, bloody red. “Sorry, Caine, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, you just didn’t care.”
“It’s not that. Your blood is just such a rush.”
“All you have to do is ask,” I smiled sweetly, as if I meant it.
Anticipation widened her eyes. “Can I?”
I dropped my smile. “No. Now finish making my drink.”
Gloria let out a cold, little laugh. “Charming as always.”
I hooked a thumb at Gray.
“Beer,” he said.
“And give Gray another drink on me.”
He said, “Even in jest, don’t offer to let anyone bleed you. You could wind up bleeding out.” His stare hit Gloria and returned to me. “Even a pureblood old as sin can loose control and forget what’s food and what’s friend.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Gloria brought our drinks over. She put Gray’s beer down with a thump on the bar, glowering at him. “Why don’t you go somewhere and have a bath. I’ll spring for a bar of soap.”
He made a great show of lifting an arm and smelling himself. His voice leaped an octave, turning all girly. “Oh, heavens, do I offend?”
Gloria slid my drink to me. “Enjoy.”
I downed my drink and slammed the glass back down. I held up a finger, signaling for a refill.
Instead of getting busy on my new order, Gloria’s smile slipped. Her eyes lost all playfulness. “Caine, I need to ask you something.”
“So ask.”
“Have you heard of someone running around town using some freakish type of fire—besides you, I mean?”
Gray and I both stilled. I asked, “What’s your interest?”
She lowered her voice. “Let’s just say there are things that make even me apprehensive.”
FIVE
“Ride with me, or just ride me,
either way—shut up and let’s go”
—Caine Deathwalker
I stepped out into a blast of sunlight, the wilting heat of summer. Claude gave me plenty of room, in case I might have developed a violent mood from drinking inside. He looked away, not wanting to invite attention. The eyes watching me were coming from someone—or something—else. Without making an issue of it, I scanned the surrounding area, finding nothing.
The feeling intensified. Instinct warned me I was being hunted, but the hunter wasn’t yet ready to strike. The lady with green fire? Already?
Wary, I strolled to my Mustang and slid in behind the wheel, and activated the onboard security system. A holo screen materialized inside the windshield, giving the vehicle a clean bill of health. Nobody had tried to mess with the vehicle. I started the engine, shifting my attention to the next piece of business.
The drive to Mordred’s wasn’t far. The bar was Slayer-owned hangout. Now, monsters—especially vamps—weren’t welcome. So early in the day, there was no crowd waiting to get in. That didn’t mean the way was clear. Parking across the street, I noticed the security at the door was the same as last time. The two didn’t wear their usual longcoats over black Kevlar armor. They didn’t want attention any more than the creatures of the night they killed. Besides, the summer heat would have made wearing such garb brutal.
No, the sentries were red-shirts, expendable; they only had to last long enough against a non-human for one of them to stick his head inside and yell for help. Fully armored and armed Slayers would come at a gallop to avenge their fallen comrades.
These two know me. That ought to make things easier.
I crossed the street and stopped in front of the Slayers. I gave them cold stares and said, “You want a repeat of last time?”
They looked at each other then back at me. Breaking out in a cold sweat, they stepped out of the way. The one on the right opened the door for me. As I passed, he said, “Don’t tell the boss we waved you through.”
I smiled. “Anyone asks, I’ll tell them you guys put up a hell of a fight. But you’ll owe me one.”
The one on the left murmured, “’Preciate it.”
I paused on the threshold, looking down at an ancient protective symbol, the Seal of Solomon. Had I been demon in more than clan affiliation, I’d have been stopped cold. I crossed over, my smile still in place. Inside was as dead as the outside. The real festivities would kick in about six or seven. Scantily clad women would dangle like lovely spiders on bands of silk from the ceiling, doing routines straight out of Las Vegas. The place would be packed. Right now, silence lent the place a graveyard-feel. There were only a couple Slayers lazing about, looking bored out of their skulls. They wore chest plates stamped with the fancy Slayer crest: a bleeding, stylized rose with a sword superimposed over it.
A red-haired biker chick polished the bar, eyeing me as I strolled over. She straightened, squaring her shoulders, throwing out her chest in playful invitation. Her voice was low and sultry, “What will you have?”
I wasn’t fooled. She recognized me. I saw it in her eyes. She was merely holding me here as back-up hurried over. The Slayers lazing about were now stalking toward me. The cameras would have sent my image to the upstairs office. More Slayers would be coming from that direction. I was soon surrounded by a welcoming party—a heavily armed welcoming party. Fear shone in their eyes. Like a mantra of the damned, three words skittered around the room, repeated over and over: Red Moon Demon.
I said, “Anyone goes for a gun, and you’ll all die.”
Coming my way, I heard the sound of high-heels on the wooden floor. The steps were unhurried. Vivian asked, “What are you doing here, Caine?”
I turned from the bar, taking her lithe beauty in at a glance. Dark wings of raven hair framed her face. Her skin was alabaster. Her nails were blood red talons. Here was a girl who’d whole-heartedly embraced the Goth look. She, too, wore the usual Slayer gear, but somehow managed to make it look sexy.
I said, “I’m here to see if you’re up for a road trip.”
A Slayer with a
scarred cheek lifted an arm to block her path. He glared at me and said, “Keep to your demon whores, freak.”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like someone protecting her. She resented the effort, took it as an insult. She also didn’t like me being called a freak because she hung with me sometimes, and there’s such a thing as guilt by association. Some of her so-called friends here probably called her a freak behind her back because she was a dhampyr among Slayers. Her father had been vampire, her mother human. If her grandfather wasn’t running things here, she’d probably have been kicked out long ago—or killed.
She took hold of the Slayer’s arm and moved it out of her way.
He winced, but I didn’t hear the sound of breaking bone or snapping tendons.
Vivian’s black eyes now held a hint of watery red, a sign of irritation. She asked, “Is this social or business, Caine?”
“I have to go to Sacramento to play diplomat. I want you to come with me.”
She continued to stare, waiting for more. I didn’t want to put too much of my business out there for everybody to hear, but I wasn’t being given much choice. “Sacramento is a closed city. The dhampyrs keep the vampires out. Having you with me might get me a meeting with someone in their upper ranks.”
Another male Slayer all but spat at me. “Hell, no, she’s not going anywhere with you. Her Grandfather would skin us all alive if we allowed it.”
More Slayers were piling into the room, some of them still throwing on body armor, gripping guns. I heard a double click and knew the bartender behind me had a shotgun pointed at my back. I wasn’t worried; the tat that governed my protective shield was already warming my flesh, ready to snap on as needed.
I held Vivian’s gaze. “How about twenty thousand a day, and expenses?”
Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) Page 4
