I returned to the bedroom, and sat on the bed, opening up a gun cleaning kit. After the soaking I’d received, the weapons could use some attention. I was just finishing up when my phone played a tune for my attention. I found the phone on the end table, and checked it, finding a text message from Gloria: The werecats are here. What do you want me to do?
I texted her back: Give them my address and send them here.
I could have gone down to the bar to collect the girls, but this was better. I had booze here, and after the stress of the fight with the taxrasque, a sleepy lethargy had begun to creep over me. I put the PPKs in their harness, stowed the kit, and—still naked—flopped back on the bed letting my eyes close. It would take the werekitties about an hour to arrive, perfect for a catnap.
* * *
Osamu shook me awake. I shot a glance at the window. It was getting dark. I’d been asleep a lot longer than I’d intended. The alarm clock on the nightstand read six-fifteen. Osamu handed me a cup of coffee. “Something to revive the spirit, Caine-sama. And you have guests waiting.”
“The werekitties are here?”
“And making serious inroads on your liquor supply. Miss Cleo and Dani seem fond of Long Island Ice Teas. Miss Terri prefers something called Sex on the Beach. Oh, I’m supposed to inform you that pretzel sticks would be appreciated.”
I took a restorative gulp of steaming coffee. The flavor seemed richer than ever before. The aroma intoxicated. The heat should have burned my tongue, but didn’t. I chalked it up to the recent changes in my physiology since getting back in town. I drained the cup in seconds and handed it back.
“Tell them I’ll be along soon. And since we have no pretzels, maybe you could throw together some tempura shrimp or something.”
Osamu gave a slight bow. “I live to serve.”
As he strolled away, a black mist condensed from nowhere, settling onto the foot of the bed. The darkness filled out, becoming a black leopard with burning yellow eyes. As the mattress compressed under her, Leona gave Osamu’s retreating back an irritated glower. “How come I don’t get served coffee in bed?”
I rolled off the bed, onto my feet, and snatched up the clothes I’d laid out earlier. I answered her as I dressed. “Maybe it’s because you don’t have a bed or bedroom either.”
She turned her glower on me. “Like that should make a difference.”
I shrugged. “You could always go out and get your own combat butler.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen.” She lashed her tail. “By the way, you might want to hurry to your office. There are cat people dancing on the bar, and they seem to be shedding clothing rather quickly.”
I lifted an eyebrow, sliding my gun harness on, following it with a light black jacket. “Really? That sounds promising.”
She grinned, flashing white fangs. “You want the bad news now?”
I sighed. “If it will make your day.”
“The girls are back from shopping. They seem to have bought out a few stores.”
Horror flushed through me, icing over my heart. I ran from the room, catching Vivian, Izumi, and Angie in the living room, their arms loaded with packages and shopping bags they dumped on the couch. Smiling, Angie wiped sweat from her pretty brow. “Man, shopping’s hard work.”
Izumi spotted me. Her frost-pale face lit up with pleasure. “Hey, Caine, we’re back!”
“Damn, Izumi, I said by a couple outfits, not entire wardrobes.”
Free of her bundles and bags, Vivian danced over to me, twirling to display the outfit she wore. The Slayer armor was gone. She sported midnight blue, low-rise skinny jeans, and a blood red blouse. Once she stopped spinning, her short, black leather coat hid her gun harness. Her ink-black spill of hair was pulled into a ponytail. New earrings glittered, white gold from the smell of the metal. Funny, since when have been able to tell metal by smell? I studied her feet. The close-toed heels were a perfect match for her crimson belt.
“What do you think?” A faint blush enlivened her pale face.
“Almost worth the suffering my credit card endured,” I said.
Izumi stalked over, handed me my credit card, and slugged me in the shoulder. Leaning into me, she hissed, “Tell her how good she looks.”
I looked back at Vivian. “You look so totally hot. I just want to rip those clothes right off you.”
She leaped in and hugged me.
I allowed my hands to roam, just a little.
Izumi looked like she was about to belt me again. Fortunately, the door to my office opened and music came blaring out. Smiling, Achill stuck his head out. “Hey, I thought I heard you guys. Come on in and join the wake.”
“Wake?” Izumi said. “Who died?”
I made a solemn mask of my face. “Haziar bit the dust. We had a rogue baby demon running loose earlier. You missed all the fun.”
“Ye gods,” Angie said, “go shopping for one afternoon and hell comes calling.”
I pulled away from Vivian, catching her hand. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the gang.” I tugged her into the office. The lights were dim. The big plasma screen TV above the bar displayed a Latin pop group, fronted by a female singer with a bare midriff. She seemed like she really knew how to wiggle. And, yes, the werekitties were dancing on the bar in their bare feet, their bare everything-else hanging out.
William and Achill didn’t seem to mind.
The Old Man was explaining to one of the girls that she ought to leave something on so he could tuck in some of the dollar bills he clutched in a big blue fist. “It’s how these things are done,” he said.
“Got a point there,” Achill slurred, cradling a big foamy mug of beer.
William held a mug of his own, thrusting it high overhead. “Here’s to Haziar, a great warrior, for a fairy.”
Izumi pointed at him from across the room, her eyes glinting with wrath. “Don’t talk down about the fey.”
William tried to take a pull of his beer. He failed since it had inexplicably turned to ice, his mug and hand both frosted over.
Vivian stomped over to the werekitties. She yelled at them, “Don’t you have any self-respect? What is your problem? Get down off of there and put some clothes on.”
Angie glared at the girls. “I know them. Werecats! That explains everything.”
Cleo, the middle werecat, blinked behind gold, wire-framed glasses. The base of her spine had sprouted a two-foot, brindle-colored tail that swished as she swayed drunkenly. Her human ears had fuzzed over and migrated to the top of her head. Her smile showed a bit of fang as well. She waved her glass at me. “Hey, weregirls just wanna have fun.”
Angie swung toward me. “Do something. This is your house.”
I shuffled through my wallet, looking for single ones. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t let my female guests dance naked on my bar? It’s a party, right? Hey, someone get me a drink.”
Osamu arrived with silver trays laden with finger foods.
The wolves swung his way, hurrying over to stuff their faces. Their hands jerked back, fingers empty. William bellowed, “Why the hell are you serving stuff on silver trays? Has it escaped your notice we’re werewolves?”
Dani stage-whispered to Terri, “I thought they smelled funny.”
Osamu looked stricken. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll just leave these for the others, and bring you more.”
“Quickly,” William snarled.
Osamu hurried away.
I went and grabbed a seat at the bar, staring up at female splendor. “You girls might not want to stay up all night. We’re hitting the road in the morning.”
Cleo blinked at me, pausing, forgetting to dance. “We are?”
“Road trip to Sacramento,” I said. “We leave at dawn—or when my eyes open.”
Izumi pressed herself against my back. “You’ve done your duty to the fallen warrior. How about giving me some attention?”
Cleo was dancing once more, swinging her butt in time to the music,
her tail swaying hypnotically. Watching, I spoke to Izumi over my shoulder, “But the girls are performing. It would be rude to leave before they’re done.” Sure I wanted to drag Izumi off for wild, crazy monkey sex, but playing a little hard to get would keep me in charge while making me more desirable.
Izumi reached past me and touched the top of the bar. It iced over.
The werekitties fell, sprawling ingloriously.
Izumi licked my ear and whispered, “They’re done.”
Dani passed out, head hanging over the bar. Cleo groaned, rubbing her fine ass. Terri slid off the bar, and drunkenly cursed from the floor in a language entirely her invention.
I nodded, getting off my stool. “They certainly are.”
NINE
And things were going so well…
—Caine Deathwalker
Next morning, we took the limo. Osamu drove with Vivian riding shotgun beside him. They split a six-pack of diet cherry Pepsi.
The weregirls and I hid out in the back, behind tinted windows. Speakers drenched us in pulsing rock. The bar dispensed Coke and Captain Morgan single barrel rum, which I mixed half and half and passed around. The girls kept a nice buzz going, but their high werecat metabolism burnt off enough of the alcohol to keep them from getting completely bombed.
With their scanty inhibitions evaporated, their ears migrated to the top of their heads, going pointy and fuzzy. They removed excess clothing—meaning everything—so their whipping tails were unhindered. Manfully, I endured their sexual attentions, and allowed all three to have their way with me in various combinations. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings after all.
Though very little of them had morphed to cat, I idly pondered whether this constituted bestiality. Not really coming up with an answer, I shrugged it away, throwing back a drink, enjoying a mild bite followed by a smoked cherry aftertaste.
Several hours passed. We made more stops than I wanted so the werekitties—dressed once more—could hit convenience stores, buying snacks, going potty.
At one stop just off I-5, we hit a Burger Bob for fish sandwiches, chicken nuggets, curly fries, bacon western cheese burgers, and drinks. Eight hours after starting our trip, we reached downtown Sacramento, exiting on J Street. I killed the music and rolled down the windows to take in the sights.
Osamu rolled down the partition dividing the front seat from the back compartment. Vivian peered back at us with disgust. “Smells like a brewery collided with a whorehouse back there.”
Dani giggled. “Cathouse you mean.”
Cleo pointed at a looming, black glass skyscraper. “It’s the Darth Vader building!”
I knew that unofficial name and landmark already, but raised an eyebrow, feigning interest. “Really? How interesting.”
Cleo dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. “The dhampyr have offices there, top two floors.”
Something else I knew.
“Drop me there,” Vivian said. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“They don’t need to know you’re both a dhampyr and a Slayer,” I said. “Slayers make everybody nervous.”
“Humans complicate everything,” Cleo said.
Vivian nodded once. “Understood.”
We rolled by the Darth Vader building, pausing so Vivian could get out. She walked from the limo without a backward glance, a girl on a mission.
* * *
The house we wanted was in the midtown area, a three story Victorian painted pastel blue, lavender, and pink. Fronted by six stairs, it had a wraparound porch that hugged the left side of the building. I stepped out of the limo and tilted my head back to take in the whole thing. “Who lives here? The Easter bunny?”
Dani snickered in a delicate, sexy way. She smiled. “No, silly, Kathryn Wilde.”
Cleo led the way up the sidewalk and stairs. The werekitties clumped in front of the door, screening Osamu and me from the peephole in the door. Dani and Terri knocked in unison as if they’d practiced.
The door opened. A pretty woman in her early twenties peered out at us. Her dark hair was gathered at the nape of her neck. As if waiting for a kiss, her red mouth pursed while she studied us with raised eyebrows. She wore jeans slashed at one knee, bleached in spots, and a black tank top. A slim leather collar adorned her neck. It had a small tinkling silver bell in front. Her hand on the door sported aqua blue polish that matched her Siamese cats’ eyes. Her own eyes were the same color.
Those eyes widened. A huge smile grew on Katherine’s face. “Clee!”
“Kat!”
They lunged together, giving that squeal that is common to girlfriends who haven’t seen each other for awhile. After a few seconds, Cleo pulled back and waved at her friends. “You remember Dani and Terri?”
“Sure.” Kathryn embraced them as well. No one bothered to introduce Osamu or me. We just tagged along as the girls were invited inside.
If the outside of the building was a little too Easter egg, the inside décor made up for it with raw attitude. There were mismatched chairs—lightly shredded by cat claws—and loveseats that looked like they’d come from thrift stores. A blue steamer trunk served as a coffee table. It had cork coasters on it for glasses, and manga magazines for the dedicated anime fan. A tall, white oscillating fan purred, washing the room with a low-key wind. A zebra-patterned rug stretched out on the floor in front of an ashy fireplace and its red-painted screen. A large screen TV dominated the mantle. The floors were all natural wood, blond and slick with polish. Acrylic paintings covered the walls. Someone was very fond of cats. One giant picture was a close-up, showing a light copper cat’s eye—staring like God at everyone in the room.
Kathryn waved the werekitties toward the furniture. Her gaze caught Osamu and me, giving us a thorough once-over. “Who are you guys?”
Terri answered for us both, pointing first at me, “That’s Caine. He’s one of the big wheels in L.A.” Her finger moved on. “And that’s Osamu, his combat butler.”
Kathryn’s stare swung to Osamu. “Combat butler?”
He shrugged and bowed. “It is a pleasure, Ma’am.”
Kathryn held up a bare hand. “It’s Miss. There’s no ring on this finger.” She smiled and the room seemed to brighten in response. “Actually, just call me Kat. Everyone does.”
I kept my hands in my pockets to project a safer image. Werecats borrow their response patterns from toms and tabbies. That means they’re high-strung and easily spooked. Werecats are confident among humans, but careful around other weres: wolves, lion, tigers, and bears, what have you.
I smiled, going for reassuring and friendly. “Kat, we’re here to see the liger.”
Her smile lost a little sparkle. “Why?” She shoved a palm out to keep me from answering. Her voice took on a cutting edge as her eyes slitted. “Wait, Caine … Caine Deathwalker? The Red Moon demon?”
Dani stroked Kat’s arm soothingly. “It’s okay, Kat, he’s nothing like the stories. He keeps an eye out for us. As demons go, he’s really very nice.”
I glowered at Dani. “Try not to say that too often, or too loudly, okay? I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Still standing, crouching a little, Kat balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to leap at the first wrong move I might make. She looked along her nose at me, sniffing delicately, trying to get a read on my emotions from my scent. “You’re not a demon.” Kat eased closer. “I smell human, but something else just under the surface.”
“He’s not a demon,” Cleo said. “He was adopted into his clan.”
Shaking her head, Terri batted at her platinum mane with the back of a hand. “Chill. We wouldn’t have brought anyone here that was dangerous. Jeez, give us a little credit.”
Kat looked at the werekitties and relaxed. “Okay, if you guys vouch for him.”
Cleo broke in, “Uh, Kat. We’re kinda hungry. You got any food around here?”
I tilted my head sideways toward Osamu, keeping my gaze on Kat. “Osamu will give you a hand. He’
s a grandmaster in the kitchen.”
Kat beckoned. “Come on, Mr. Combat Butler, let’s put you to work.”
He bowed once more. “Honored to serve.”
“We’ll make a platter of sandwiches and break out some chips.” Kat sashayed through a wide archway, passing a kitchen table and chairs, and windows with butter yellow curtains. The back door had matching curtains as well.
I sat on the corner of the steamer trunk, and picked up a magazine from under the manga. It was a copy of Inside Gung-Fu, a martial arts periodical. The mailing label had a man’s name on it: Joshua Kent. I now had the name of the liger. I wondered how much longer it would be before the were himself showed up.
Cleo picked up a remote control and turned on the TV over the fireplace. She surfed channels until tripping over the animal channel, and stopped to watch a pride of lions take down some gazelle. The werekitties grew silent, tensing up, eyes filling with bloodlust as the gazelle were dragged down and mauled.
I decided to help out in the kitchen, before the girls started drooling my way. Dropping the magazine, I strolled across the room, through the arch.
The kitchen was nothing like the rest of the house, more twenty-second century, everything shiny steel, pink and black marble, an island range under a tarnished copper hood, and a cherry wood table next to it, over which hung a wire rack where assorted cookware dangled. Beyond the island, a refrigerator was built into a red brick wall. To the right of the appliance, double glass doors revealed a well stocked pantry.
I didn’t know what Kat did for a living, but she wasn’t hurting for money.
Just inside the kitchen arch, I leaned on a counter and watched her dig into the fridge. She’d located various items and tossed them over a shoulder to Osamu at the island table. He caught them smoothly and lined them up next to a long loaf of French bread. Soon, lettuce, tomato, condiments, and assorted cheeses were assembled. Kat joined him at the food prep table, plopping down a rattling bag of mesquite barbeque chips, and a second bag of sour cream and onion.
Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) Page 7
