SILVER CROWN KING
MORGAN BLAYDE
© August 2015
Official website: www.morgan-blayde.com
Contents
Title Page
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
COMING IN 2016
ONE
“I once got so drunk I couldn’t find the TV remote.
The View was on. It was the worse hour of my life.”
—Caine Deathwalker
As usual, I came out of the gun shop with a bounce in my step. I scanned the street, looking for trouble. It had been leaping out at me regularly for the last few months, one assassination attempt after another. I’d turned down a whole detail. I didn’t think I needed massive security. The Old Man had disagreed. Zero-T was a compromise.
He waited at the curb, passing for human. The demons in my clan had different ways doing this. Leaning against his car, Zero-T wore dark sunglasses over a ceramic mask that made him into a black man, color being only second-skin deep. This was definitely an improvement because, underneath, his scaled skin was a reptilian mottle of blue and silver. Without the glasses, the cross-shaped pupils on his powder blue orbs would have betrayed him, drawing notice; like the fact that he was in a no parking zone.
He owed his persona to all the black exploitation films he’d watched. Since taking him on as one of my security branch operatives, I’d often caught him whistling the theme to Shaft.
Zero-T needed his own theme song, something like: I’m such a fuck-up, shoot me in the head. I’m such a fuck-up gonna wind up fuckin’ dead. La da-da la … la da-da la.
My inner dragon stirred. Catchy tune. He should like that.
Zero-T shot me a toothy grin, the light glazing his polished scalp. His earth magic allowed the false-face to move naturally, displaying emotion as if it were moved by muscles. His thin arms crossed his chest as he leaned against the side of his lemon yellow Volvo C-70. The butterscotch leather seats, the red leather wrapping the steering wheel, and the fuzzy red dice on the rearview mirror showed a level of taste I pitied.
Is it petty of me to enjoy having someone around who screws up worse than I do? Hell, yes, and so what? I’m going to conquer the universe one day. People can just get used to being peed upon. Eventually, they’ll get to like it.
Zero-T wore his usual khaki slacks, black tee, and black leather jacket. Through the gap of his jacket, I saw he was sporting his beloved Magnum .357 in an expensive shoulder rig. Despite his air of relaxation, I knew he was aware of everything around him. My operatives aren’t completely incompetent; that might get me killed. I knew he was ex-military but I’d never asked him what kind.
Playing chauffer, he opened the back door of his Volvo.
Climbing in, I tossed my package into the seat beside me. The bag held three boxes of 9mm standards. There was nothing illegal about the ammo.
Not yet, but give me time.
Zero-T shut the door, and a few moments later, was up front, buckled in, and staring at me in the rear-view mirror. “Where to, Boss?”
We were in West Los Angeles. The area was a focus for commercial development, home to high-rise office buildings along Olympic, Santa Monica, and Wilshire Boulevards, containing a large number of Japanese-owned businesses. “Samurai Sushi.” I wanted to try the place having heard good things about their yellowtail and salmon. “It’s on…”
“I’ve been there. Hold on. Time to turn my baby around.” Zero-T pulled the car over to the turning lane, rolling up to the intersection as it went green. We roared through, spinning at high speed, tearing back the way we’d come. Five minutes later, we were there, turning at a corner where a Guitar Center occupied a building resembling a Greek temple, with windows. Next to it was the sushi place I wanted, its front door standing under a blood red awning. A red neon sign said: OPEN.
This time, I made sure he parked in a legal space and fed the meter. He used his cell phone to transmit a code to the car’s ignition system computer so it couldn’t start without a count command only he knew. I approved, using such measures on my own Mustangs. We strolled past windows obscured with white rice paper screens, and entered the establishment.
The crowd seated at the long counter was light. They were watching their food cooked in front of them. More customers occupied outlying black lacquer tables with glass tops. A bamboo latticework formed a false ceiling from which red lanterns hung like monstrous, bloated cherries. The hard wood floor was also bamboo.
A hostess in a tight red dress with koi swimming down it appeared with laminated menu sheets in hand. She guided us to a table at a wall where a misty watercolor landscape was hung. I liked the fact that the tables were well spaced out, providing an illusion of privacy.
I sat with my back to the wall which was my custom. Zero-T sat with his back toward every passing stranger. This wasn’t as reckless as it seemed. Demons aren’t usually as breakable as humans. And if people went for him first, he’d be buying me time to act. Unfortunately, it wasn’t humans we had to worry about. Most of those trying to assassinate me were fey. There were fey courts that couldn’t stand the fact I’d laid claim to a territory in Fairy and would soon be crowned a fey lord. They objected to a demon lord holding power among them, even if I wasn’t a real demon, having only been raised that way.
I was half dragon, and half—something else. It was the something else I still didn’t have a firm handle on. I’d always assumed my father to be human, but I didn’t really have proof of that.
The hostess handed us the menu sheets. “The waitress will be along soon to take your drink orders. Enjoy your evening with us.”
As she left, I surveyed her gently swaying ass, able to envision many ways in which she could make my visit a lot more enjoyable. In Japan, some places still existed that served sushi on the freshly bathed, nude bodies of woman. Great plating. The practice was called nyotaimori, and went back to samurai days as a celebration following great battles. I’d always wanted to give it a try.
Hmmm. Wonder what Izumi would think of volunteering. An image of the winter fey princess crossed my mind, an image of her pale white legs spread, her soft pink folds covered with sashimi, little delicacies making a trail up her torso to breast adorned by spicy tuna and eel. My mental theater took a hard turn into kinky as I imagined her wearing a ball gag and blindfold.
My hardening cock spoke up: Hey, don’t tease me this way.
Shut up, I told him. You’ll get yours, later.
Clad in a watery-blue kimono with orange and white koi swimming on it, and a pale blue obi tied around the waist, the waitress glided to the table and offered a small bow. “Can I get you something to drink while you decide on your meals?”
“Do you have Daiginjo sake?” I asked.
“For both of you?” she asked.
Zero-T pushed back
from the table, looking at me as he stood. “You’re the professional drunk, uh, I mean drinker so I’ll go with your judgement. Order me whatever the chef’s special is. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I nodded as he strode across the room toward the restroom sign.
“We’re ready to order now,” I said. “In addition to a full bottle of sake, and the chef’s special, I’ll have the yellowtail, surf clam, and eel sushi, served with a side of rice.”
“That will be all?” she asked.
“For now.” I handed her the menus and showed an unbiased attitude in also watching her ass retreat.
My dick spoke up again: “Hey, you’re killing me here.”
I sighed. My cock had a lot in common with my demon sword: both were long, hard, insatiable, and often needed a firm hand or something to stab. “I have a whole harem. You can’t tell me you’re suffering.”
Hell yes! Even in human form, I have a dragon’s vitality.
I looked down in my lap and said, “Just shut the fuck up before I tie you in a half Windsor.”
That would hurt you, too.
“Yeah, but I have an incredibly high tolerance for pain. What about you?”
Only silence answered.
I smiled. “That’s what I thought.” I’m not sure what it says about me that I enjoy beating myself into submission, uh, figuratively speaking.
I killed time examining the décor; the use of hard woods, rice paper lanterns, and the artwork on the walls. The dark green bottle of sake arrived with two matching drinking cups. I reached out and felt the bottle. Overly chilled. “You’ve killed the flavor. This isn’t supposed to be served cooler than Fifty degrees.”
Her smile looked strained. “I’ll bring you something else then?”
“Yes, bring me the manager.”
Leaving the sake, she hurried away, no doubt to report a difficult customer to the management. A minute later, she returned with a Japanese man in a charcoal suit with a lavender tie. He was clean shaved and wore round, wire-rim glasses. His black hair was swept back and gelled down. He said, “I understand there’s a problem here?”
I pointed at the sake. “Overly refrigerated. It’s been allowed to die.”
He reached out and picked up the bottle. He frowned. “You’re right. A terrible sin against the gods of hospitality. I will take care of this at once.”
I nodded.
The waitress stared at him. “But that’s the way we were told to serve it.”
The manager glanced at her. “You were misinformed. Cold destroys the fragrance and taste. It is served cool, not half frozen.” His stare came back to me. “I will send you something better, on the house. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal.”
I said, “Domo arigato.”
They left. Not long after, I spotted Zero-T approaching. He settled at the table, staring away as if disinterested in me. There were loud complaints at some of the tables Zero-T had passed. People were fanned the air away from their faces, throwing dirty looks his way.
Damn, he was just in the restroom. Couldn’t he have passed gas there?
A Japanese couple came into the restaurant and were led past us. They wrinkled their noses in passing.
I took a deep whiff and smelled absolutely nothing. Not a single scent? Something is suppressing my senses.
Zero-T glowered after the couple, reaching inside his jacket like he was going to draw down on them with his magnum.
Suspicious, I wanted to hear his voice, so I tried to engage him in conversation. “Watching for trouble is your job, but you need to savor life as well as guard it. A great meal and outstanding sake is coming. Try to loosen up, all right?”
Saving his words, he gave me a non-committal grunt, staying silent as our food arrived. The chef’s special turned out to be spicy striper rolls and bluefish sashimi. He picked up a piece of the bluefish and stared at it in outrage. “Great meal? This isn’t even cooked!”
The voice was close, maybe a whisper off, but I knew this wasn’t Zero-T. The real Zero-T had been here before and knew that sashimi was supposed to be uncooked.
Our waitress looked like she was about to cry. I said, “It’s all right. Just bring us the drinks.”
She hurried away. Instead of watching her pleasant ass, I pulled raw golden magic to my Dragon Fire tattoo, warming it to life. The spell activated, requiring a price I paid in phantom pain. It felt like a sandblaster were applied to my tongue as hot wax melted in my eyes. I sat still, knowing the sensation would fade in a moment, leaving no damage, which it did. The waitress approached with a bottle of sake that was coated in dust. I suspected this was rare, private stock. Too bad I had to waste some of it on Zero-T.
I opened the bottle and poured us each a cup. Standing, I held my cup and offered him the other. He looked a little confused as I held up my cup to make a toast, but got in the spirit of things by standing as well. He took the cup from my hand.
A quick glance showed we were no longer under scrutiny. “To Lady Death,” I said. “May she never sleep alone.”
If my words bothered him, he gave no sign, simple tilting the cup and guzzling. I filled my mouth with the rice wine and brought a roiling belch of dragon fire up from my stomach, spitting it all over him. He screamed briefly, then went all fey, wearing purple and yellow silks. Then he was just a dead crispy critter falling as embers. Dragon fire is hotter than normal fire and difficult to put out. Since I didn’t want to destroy a good restaurant, I pulled the fire back to me absorbing it.
By now, all the surrounding customers were thoroughly alarmed, babbling, cursing, dinners leaping up, screaming themselves. I hopped back a step and pointed dramatically at the dead man. “Wow, spontaneous human combustion! You don’t see that every day.”
“He did smell rather gaseous,” one customer confirmed. “Made me gag on my mackerel.”
A woman said, “Didn’t I see some of that fire jump at you?”
I looked shocked and made a show of looking myself over. “Did it? I seem to be all right.”
The hostess hurried over with a fire extinguisher and sprayed Co2 on the remains.
“Quick thinking,” I told her. “You’ve probably saved us all. Now if you don’t mind, could I have a different table?” Without waiting for an answer, I walked toward the restroom. Whoever had taken Zero-T’s place had done it there. I wanted to know if Zero-T were still alive.
I went in and found disaster. The mirrors were webbed with cracks. One porcelain sink was shattered. The walls of a stall were smashed, the pieces lying on the floor. I found Zero-T with his face in a toilet. I pulled him back. He fell on his back and lay still except for the shallow rise of his chest. He was still breathing, but not conscious. His mask was in place, but covered in hairline cracks.
If I had to guess what had happened, I’d say he came in here and was ambushed by a very strong fey that battered the demon head-first into everything he could find. The fey probably went off thinking his killing was half done, with only me remaining. From the foul stench others had picked up, and the speed of the combustion, I decided my would-be assassin was probably from the Autumn Court in Fairy where magic centers on corruption and decay.
I’d say the only reason Zero-T still lived was due to an instinctive response, his pouring of all his earth magic into the mask. The mask had protected him through horrific abuse.
I nudged him with a toe. “Sleeping here all night?”
Nothing.
I kicked him in the ribs.
He groaned. His eyes flickered open, and the mask fell off his face in itty-bitty pieces, revealing reptilian scales and bright colors. “I was attacked!”
“Really? What was your first clue?”
He rolled over, got hands and knees under him, and levered himself to his feet. He stood, swayed, and looked around. “Man, I must have put up a helluva fight.”
I pointed to a window high on a far wall. It seemed to open unto an alley. “Go out that way. We can’t have people seeing you li
ke this.”
“That’s kinda high. Want to give me a boost?”
“I don’t touch men’s asses. Pull out a few bricks to make stepping stones.”
“But my food?”
“Not my problem. What kind of a bodyguard gets himself beat down, leaving his employer vulnerable? You don’t deserve bluefish sashimi and spicy rolls.”
“Ah, common, have a heart. I took a beating for you.”
“Okay, well hit a Burger King drive through on the way home. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine.”
“One more thing,” I told him. “You can’t come back to this restaurant. The fey assassin was wearing your face when I killed him. You show up again, and they’ll call Ghost Hunters on your ass.”
“But I love this place.”
The door opened. A male customer came in. Stopped. Looked around. And quietly slipped out gain. I pointed to the window again. “Out.”
He went.
TWO
“There are days my shadow won’t
follow me; afraid of getting peed on.”
—Caine Deathwalker
I’d let the Old Man know I wouldn’t be taking on any more jobs for a while. Loose ends had been bugging me for months; important details that needed resolving here in L.A. Now that I was back from Santa Fe, I could give certain matters my full attention. That’s why I’d used my magic mirror, leaving the clan house, returning to Malibu so very fucking early in the morning.
Really, who gets up before noon?
Anyway, William was right next door, completely unsuspecting. I allowed myself an evil chuckle. Before I moved on them, I needed fortification, breakfast. I had a new drink recipe in front of me, on the huge bar of my office. A blender glistened, filled with half-frozen treasure. Assorted bottles and containers stood off to the side, one of them full of ice. I’d just finished blending orange-flavored liqueur, tequila, blood orange juice, and mint leaves. All that was left was to pour and guzzle—then go kick ass.
A black shadow hung in the air a moment, then dropped onto the bar. The shadow thickened, filled in, and became a black, spirit leopard. Leona’s whiskers twitched as she smelled the slush in the blender. She turned her bright yellow eyes my way and said, “Okay, here’s mine. What are you going to have?”
Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King Page 1
