Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King

by Morgan Blayde

  Inari’s voice was hard and tight. “Yes, sir, I decided on a strategy that I was sure I could win since their top people didn’t seem to be fire demons like myself.”

  “And where did you get the idea to challenge their leader to a drinking contest to decide everything?” the Old Man asked.

  She said, “I asked myself, ‘What would Caine Deathwalker do.’”

  “Get very drunk,” I answered. “Very insightful. What would you have done if it hadn’t worked?”

  “It did work. I knew it would. I knew my internal flames would burn up the alcohol so it couldn’t affect me. And I knew they wouldn’t counter the alcohol because then, they couldn’t have savored it. That’s why I started with the oldest, most expensive wine in the cellar. After their general went down, the captains of their troops insisted on picking up the challenge, sure that they could drink me under the table.”

  “So you went through my entire wine cellar,” the Old Man said.

  “The enlisted men wanted their turn to save the day. The enemy just kept coming and coming.”

  “Until they all passed out drunk,” I said. “Brilliant!”

  She looked at me. “Really?”

  “Really,” the Old Man said. “An expansive victory, but not in terms of lost lives—on our side at each. Well done.”

  The Old Man and I turned from the display and headed for the exit. “Okay,” I called, “we’re done here. Drinks are on Imari!”

  EIGHT

  “One must be wary of roses

  when gathering thorns.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Drake and my cousin Kinsey wanted to meet at Bask-n Robins for ice cream. That’s why I was here, instead of working on the many details needed to pull off my coming coronation. The mascot on the sign—a red robin lounging in a cardboard tub of raspberry-fudge dribble—looked unbearably pleased with himself. Just behind me plodded the security escort the Old Man had thrust upon me. The clan soldiers were cloaked, using various types of magic to pass for human.

  I turned toward them, tired of their bickering, and fed raw magic to my Dragon Sight tattoo. Their magic type sand strengths appeared for my eyes alone. Jo-jo wore a red aura, its intensity indicated very strong fire demon magic. He said, “Well, one of us needs to stay out here and keep an eyeball peeled.”

  “You do it,” Jorge said. “I need ice cream. There’s a blockage in my chakras.” Indeed, he did have a blockage in his energy flow, an occasional hazard when you mix incompatible magicks. His aura indicated he was a lower-level practitioner of earth magic, and dabbled in necromancy on the side.

  Megan, the only hot chick in the group, had transformative magic, the demon equivalent of a shape-shifter. She said, “You can’t even spell ‘chakras’. And you don’t need ice cream, you only want it.”

  “Technically true,” Gumbo, the Cajun gater-demon, boomed. High level water magic there. “But we all want ice cream, so someone’s gotta miss out.”

  “Or,” I said, “You could all wait out here and not spook the dragons I’m meeting with, and when I’m done, I’ll buy you all a chocolate ice cream cake.”

  Unfortunately, you have to be nice to the people volunteering to take a bullet for you.

  Fortunately, nice is relative.

  Megan looked at me, brushing metallic red hair away from blue-chrome eyes.

  Yeah, nothing unnatural about her.

  She said, “We’re supposed to be looking out for you. It’s our big chance to move up in the ranks.”

  I said it slowly, “Ice cream cake.”

  Jo-jo and Gumbo exchanged a quick glance, nodded and said, “Deal.”

  I turned back to the door, opened it, and went in—alone.

  The store was long and narrow, divided by a display case with bucket full of frozen decadence. One person was on duty. Helping an old lady gently toward a diabetic coma. On the left, were three small tables with chairs, up against a glass window looking out on a patio with umbrella tables for outdoor dining. The very last table had Drake and Kinsey. He had a traditional Sunday in a waffle-cone bowl, with added sprinkles. She had her back to the corner, as if expecting an attack. Not a bad practice really. Her sugar cone, with two scoops of rainbow sherbet, was clutched in both hands, as if she were afraid of it being suddenly snatched away.

  I went up to the table and stood where they both could see me. There was no third chair for me to sit in. This wasn’t deliberate. The other tables each only had a pair of chairs. Really, this place needed a bigger storefront.

  Drake nodded. His yellow diamond cufflinks flashed. He made a greeting out of recognizing my name, “Caine. How’s the ‘death walking’ these days?” He wore his steel-gray hair cropped close, and filled out a tawny suit with white shirt and a milk chocolate colored tie. His seamed face was clean-shaved, leathery as dragon wings. His deep-set eyes were also brown but possessed a butter yellow flecks. My magically heightened sight didn’t pick up any magic weapons or relics on him. He didn’t even register as having magic. Too powerful to need a weapon; this was the impression he wanted to give. With my weapons available by magic, I appeared unarmed too, going for the same affect.

  Kinsey smiled with no attempt to disguise her malice. She nodded her greeting. “Hey, half-blood freak, do you think you brought enough backup to be safe from me?”

  I smiled in return. “Since I announced my up-coming coronation in Fairy, the assassination attempts on me have increased dramatically. The Old Man won’t let me go anywhere without them, but I don’t need help taking care of business.” I drew out my phone under her watchful eyes and pulled up a picture I’d taken of William’s remains. I held the display out, letting her get a good look. “That was an alpha wolf that betrayed me.”

  I moved the picture so Drake could see it, too. He nodded, and crunched down on a spoon of ice cream, no emotion on his face. The guy had to be a damn good poker player.

  Kinsey’s eyes kindled with warm golden fire. “Good job,” she conceded. Her eyes flicked to my ring. Dragons always notice other people’s jewelry. “Not a particularly impressive stone.” She meant, it wasn’t something she’d bother to steal: just a black opal stone with red and gray star-points in it.

  I shrugged and put away my phone. “The ring is a demon clan thing, identifies my ranking as heir. Those that serve directly under me wear one of these.”

  “Makes sense,” Drake said. “Who’d go around giving expensive stones to underlings?”

  Kinsey caused my Dragon Sight to post her with little tags labeling her many offensive charms and defensive wards. She’d come loaded with killing magic, all of it color-coded royal gold—the strongest type of dragon magic. She also wore a black lacquered sheath, hanging on gold chains from a thin leather belt with a silver and garnet buckle. I’d seen this weapon before, and knew she favored it. Her left hand occasionally fondled the jeweled, basket-style hilt before returning to the cone in her right. A tag on the sheath said the weapon was spell-shielded so normal human eyes wouldn’t notice it.

  That didn’t really need magic. Her natural beauty was distraction enough. Looking hot as hell, she wore a sin-black mini-dress with poufy, black-lace sleeves. Her straw colored hair was braided so it looked like she wore a crown. Her eyes were antique gold, like her bracelets. They were the wide kind some kung-fu fighters wear to block swords and knives. They chinked a little as she moved her arms.

  “I’d like to invite you two to my coronation. It’s going to be a hell of a party. Good booze, free food, and—since I’m expecting to be hit with a major military campaign while distracted—there will be plenty of blood-sport going around. You can bring the whole family.”

  “Nice of you to offer. Send me the details. I’ll pass them along.” Ice cream gone, Drake crunched into his eatable bowl.

  “Well, Kinsey?”

  “Don’t soil my name with its use,” she said. “If I go, it’s just on the off chance I might see you painfully executed by your enemies. I’d kill you mysel
f, but you are family, just barely.”

  I smiled. “Kinsey, you were born a fucking bitch, you’re still a fucking bitch, and you will die one day—stabbed by my dick—a well fucked bitch.”

  Drake shot us both quelling looks, and said, “Not helpful.”

  Kinsey glared at me. “In your impossible dreams.”

  I glared back. “So, you only came today to insult me?”

  Her eyes were bright yellow stars, her passions engaged. “You stole it, didn’t you?”

  Yes, I certainly did. I’d been wondering how long it would take for the conversation to touch on what they wanted to know. I feigned confusion. “Something got stolen? Nothing important, I hope.”

  “You’re not fooling me, Deathwalker.” Gripping her cone too tightly caused it to audibly crack. The half-eaten scoop on top plopped onto the table. Kinsey glowered at the fallen ice cream like it had done something wrong.

  Drake said, “We went looking for your mother’s diary, aware that we had promised to let you read it—under our supervision, as long as the book never left our possession.”

  “Actually,” I said, “None of those terms were part of our original deal. You were supposed to hand the book over.”

  “That’s not how I choose to remember it,” Drake said, “but what’s done is done.”

  “As her son,” I said, “my claim to her property is stronger than yours. I should never have had to bargain for what—by rights—you should have handed over years ago in the name of duty. You failed my mother in death as you failed her in life.”

  Kinsey’s cone dropped from her hands. She stood, jarring the little plastic table. Her right hand reached across her body to draw her sword.

  I just stared with cold disregard. “Try and tell me it isn’t true.”

  Drake stood. He looked at my cousin, calling her name, “Kinsey. We’re going.”

  She kept her hand on her sword hilt. “But—”

  Drake sighed. “Kinsey, we can’t argue with him because he’s right.” He turned to face me. “If I come to your party, will you tell me how you breached our incredibly tight security to take the book?”

  I met his tawny-brown stare. “I might.”

  Drake nodded and headed for the door. Kinsey hissed at me like a viper and chased after him, her ice cream forgotten.

  What a waste.

  I walked to the counter and the proprietor came over, smiling. “What can I get you sir?”

  I turned and pointed at a cooler by the door. I’ll take that chocolate ice cream cake there, some spoons, and napkins.” I handed him a couple twenties. “Oh, you seem to be in need of a clean-up on that table over there.”

  His eyes glanced over at Kinsey’s mess. He muttered under his breath. “Some people have no manners.”

  I smiled. “I know, right?”

  A few minutes later, boxed cake in hand, I walked out of the store. Jo-jo relieved me of my burden. The guys took the napkins and spoons I handed, and swept me over to an outdoor table so they could be comfortable eating while keeping me alive. I wished for an attack. Seeing these guys scramble under fire to find their professionalism would have further brightened my day. In a pinch, I could continue looking out for myself.

  Only Megan attempted conversation during the gorging. She stared down the sidewalk in the direction taken by my dragon relatives. “Who was the skank?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering about the stick up her butt.”

  “You’re a demon,” I said. “You can say the word ass. That was my cousin, Kinsey.”

  “You sleeping with her?” Megan asked.

  “We’re family, and she hates my guts.”

  “It’s a thin line between disgust and passion,” Jorge said.

  I stared at him. “Eat your cake.”

  Megan softly cleared her throat. “Cause you know, if you‘re that hard up for female companionship, I’m available.”

  All the guys stopped mid-bite to see where this was going. Gumbo chuckled to himself, a sound like an idling chainsaw. “Understatement,” he said.

  Megan smiled sweetly at me. “Excuse me a second.” Her right arm went rubbery, morphing into a tentacle. Her right fist puffed up and became a spiked wrecking ball that sped across the table and crunched into Gumbo’s face. He fell backwards off the bench, cursing. Jorge and Jo-jo, returned to munching on cake. Megan’s arm returned to what passed for normal as she turned her attention back to me. “Sorry about that, but a lady doesn’t like to be called a slut.”

  Gumbo picked himself off the ground. He squinted with wrath at Megan as he sat down. “Don’t do that again.”

  Strangely, this bunch of misfits were growing on me. I was seriously considering keeping them around. There were plenty of times I needed to sacrifice red-shirts as distractions, and they wanted the job.

  “If you see Kinsey again, and a violent impulse overtakes you,” I said, “you should haul ass right after. One, she carries an invisible sword. Two, her other form is a dragon. She’ll either try to step on you and squish you flat, or bite your head off. I mean that literally.”

  Jo-jo nodded. “So we need to finish the cake and clear out in case she remembers how much she hates you, and comes back.”

  “You were paying attention,” I said.

  He nodded. “Ice cream cake is good. A live client, is even better. I need a paycheck to live on. You die, and I don’t get paid.” He said it like he was proclaiming some deep, cosmic truth.

  “Just how much are you getting to keep me alive, anyway?”

  They told me. I stared, appalled. “That little? I didn’t think the Old Man was that tight. Where’s the motivation then for doing a good job? You’d make a lot more betraying me than by saving my ass.”

  Jo-jo nodded agreement. “Yeah, sad, ain’t it?”

  Megan touched my arm delicately. “Of course we would never sell you out.”

  Jorge said, “Lauphram would hunt us down, rip off our heads, and then find something that would really hurt.”

  Gumbo said, “He’d cut off our privates for bait and go after snapping turtles. He’d—”

  My cocked winced in sympathy. I interrupted. “And besides, most of my enemies want to kill me personally—slowly.”

  “Hmmm,” Megan said. “Slowly.” Her hand dropped to my thigh. She gave it a squeeze.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Anyone who saves my life in the heat of battle gets a 10K bonus.”

  The boys paused while eating desserts. Gumbo said, “Really?”

  “You want a blood oath?” I asked.

  “No, honey, that’s not what I want.” Megan smiled as her hand felt me up. Her eyes went large with shock. She leaned in and whispered. “Please tell me that’s not a crowbar in your pants.”

  There’s a lot to be said for having dragon-blood.

  Sadly, I had to turn her down. “Uh, no time. I’ve got to get a move on or I’ll be late.”

  “Late for what?” Jorge asked.

  “I’ve got to dragon-nap a little kid. You guys can take the rest of the day off. I’m not going to be able to take an armed escort with me to the dragon world.”

  NINE

  “The best reason for mending

  bridges is to burn them again.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I climbed the long flight of white steps to the front porch with its round, marble columns. Our Lady of Perpetual Motion just looked like a huge catholic cathedral—a massive, white-brick edifice with a single, spire-capped tower rising four stories, as if flipping-off heaven. The rest of the building was T-shaped with a fancy dome back where the halls intersected.

  I approached a life-sized statue, a European looking woman in blue and white robes, a baby tucked under one arm, gilt halos over their heads. The porcelain lady had a mysterious half-smile, like she knew a secret she wasn’t handing over. The statue anchored a mild aversion spell turning humans away that had no idea of what went on here. Those that knew this as a por
tal station were able to push through the low-grade magic, with just a moment of concentration.

  I felt an impulse to pump the face full of exploding rounds, but I kept my Berettas in my Malibu armory when a thought could have armed me. Maybe next time. It wasn’t moral restraint—whatever that is—that stopped me, but the fact that the portal operators would deny me service if I ticked them off. And then I’d have to kill them all. And I still wouldn’t get where I needed to go. There are times when even a Demon Lord needs to play nice with others.

  I passed the statue and went in through oversized, dark-stained, wooden doors. There were miniature humanoid creatures in hooded friar robes waiting, clutching digital pads with grooves for credit card transactions. As I crossed the foyer, one of these personnel attached itself to me, clomping along at my side in wooden clogs.

  Inside the cathedral, no service was underway. No candles burned. Traffic flowed into confessional boxes on the right, while another stream of travelers emerged from the bank on the left. I got in the shortest line on the right. The little critter beside me croaked words, “Destination?”

  “Dragon Realm,” I said. “Two ways for me, add a child’s fare for the return.”

  Those nearby turned to look at me. Meeting my glare, they turned away again. I understood the surprise. Most of these travelers were staying in this dimension. Reaching other universes cost a great deal. Fortunately, I had one of Lauphram’s demon clan corporate credit cards, good on Earth, Shambhala, and most hell-dimensions with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere.

  “Station?” the critter asked.

  “X’lourgahillus,” I said.

  The creature entered the information and held up a blue fuzzy paw. I handed over my credit card. He swiped it through his machine and returned my card. “Stay in this line, in this position. If someone else takes your trip, the fee will not be refunded. You must return by the same gate, so take note of where you emerge. The gate will recognize you and bring you back anytime in the next twenty-four hours, Earth time.”