Red Moon Demon (Demon Lord)

by Blayde, Morgan

  Half the soldiers were setting up a perimeter, turning away the cops that were hitting the scene. The feds would make sure all this went quietly away, our tax dollars at work. The rest of the soldiers and a few geeks in white coats nosed across the battlefield, piecing together what had happened.

  Old Man followed me as I moved away from the church. Keeping a leisurely pace, we skirted the PRT personnel. I wasn’t worried about the normal humans, but running steps might have drawn attention from anyone with heightened senses or unnatural gifts.

  Several of the fallen wolves were hauled off to the trucks for quick field autopsies. I heard the black suit order a cleanup of the spent rounds. A guy with a laptop paused to pull a knife out of a fallen wolf. The hilt had the black rose and sword crest of the slayers. The tech dude carried his find to the black suit, as a woman with green hair walked up. I had the feeling the green was her natural color, not a dye job.

  As Old Man and I passed the three, she looked up, straight at me.

  I put a finger to my lips—the international symbol for shut-the-hell-up-and-stay-that-way.

  A smile turned up one corner of her lips. She turned her attention away. Clearly, her loyalty was divided, but that was to be expected; she smelled fey. A fey really only has one side—their own.

  We got out into the street, and passed some cops bitching about the feds having pulled jurisdiction on them. Wouldn’t be long before the news crews arrived and the meat wagons. They’d need several for this mess. The whole thing would probably go down officially as a gang war. This was L.A., after all.

  Old Man put Haruka’s scorched body in the trunk, then we piled into my car. Leona was in the backseat, waiting. Her window was down, her face sticking out. “Great way to keep a low profile,” I groused. “What if someone had seen you?”

  “I’d have killed them, what do you think?”

  “Oh, well,” I said, “as long as you had a plan.”

  Old Man shot me an evaluating look. “Caine?”

  “Yeah?” Going through the usual routine to disable the security system, I started the engine.

  “Can you hold the whole vehicle in your spell? We really don’t want to draw notice leaving here.”

  “For a short time, yeah, but even I have limits.”

  “You’re admitting that?” Leona said.

  “Yeah, I learned a long time ago; lie to anyone, but not yourself. That can get you killed.”

  I sent the car cruising slowly past various vehicles. We soon reached the highway, and headed for home.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “I hate dead clients. You

  don’t get paid for those.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  We pulled into the garage. The opener closed the door, sealing us in from the night. The automatic locks engaged. We bailed from the mustang. Leona ghosted away, going about her business. I opened the trunk and pulled out Haruka’s body, hefting it over my shoulder. Rigor mortis had yet to set in. The eyes weren’t clouded. She might have been deeply asleep, awaiting a prince charming.

  There was a thin chance I could still make that happen. A very thin chance. The grimoire necklace had resurrected William to the degree that even now, his body parts struggled to live after his second death. If I could get the necklace from Salem and use it on Haruka, then maybe I could still collect my fee. I certainly needed a new demon sword. I handed my old one to the Old Man.

  “Here, do something with this.”

  He took the soulless blade, back in its sheath, and headed for the kitchen door. “I’ll hang it over the fire place. What a night. I think I’ll see how many drinks it will take to drop me on my posterior region.”

  “Hell of a good idea,” I said.

  Old Man paused in the kitchen doorway, looking back at me as I went to the big double wide freezer in the corner of the garage. Too bad Izumi’s not here. Haruka would be better off flash frozen. I opened the lid and settled Haruka inside. This wasn’t the first time I’d used it to store a body for later disposal. I closed the lid and caught up to Old Man.

  “Hiro’s still here,” I said. “You’re going to explain things to him?”

  “He’s my friend, so yes, I’ll do it. What’s your next plan, after getting drunk of course?”

  “Don’t give him the body. I need it.”

  “I know you have aberrant sexual needs, Caine, but…”

  “I hardly ever do that anymore. Anyway, that’s not why I need her. I think I can bring her back, better than a zombie.” I passed through the kitchen, heading for the living room.

  Old Man stayed a step behind. “Full resurrection? The necklace?”

  “Yeah. No matter what he says, keep Haruka here on ice. I’m her only chance.”

  “Sadly, I agree. Very well. I’ll try to make Hiro understand that all is not lost.”

  From the living room, he headed for the office. I took the hall to my room. Once there, I stripped off my gear and hung everything on the martial arts manikin. His rubber face was blank. No recrimination there. I knew when I showed up in the bar, Hiro’s face wouldn’t be so restrained. I went to the other side of my bed and activated the stored magic of the full-length mirror. Naked, I stepped through, emerging in my armory under the bar.

  Regular gear hadn’t been enough. With Salem powered up, I needed a hell of a lot more before taking him on. I went to the work area where I had some new gear I’d been working on: a light Kevlar battle suit with woven tungsten fibers and small pieces of plaiting over vital areas. The thing was matte black with a harness over it that contained PPKs, various grenades, a combat knife, and short swords in back where they could be easily reached. I’d been soaking the new armor in eldritch energy for months now. I hoped the suit could withstand the worse of Salem’s magic and let me use mine—at least long enough to take the warlock out. This was my zombie apocalypse suit. I’d been saving it for the end of the world.

  This next battle was close enough.

  I put the suit on and grabbed a bag with equipment for fine-tuning my guns. The elevator returned me to the first floor. I stepped out behind the bar and started to make myself a few drinks. I watched Old Man over by the fireplace, trying to calm Hiro down, and doing a poor job at it. Understandable considering his only daughter was chillin’ in my garage freezer. Finishing the manufacture of Margaritas, I lined them up on the bar next to my bag, and opened the drawstring mouth. I drew out several clip-on laser sights. Two PPKs went on the bar as well. I clipped the sights to the undersides of the barrels.

  Panning the guns at the empty end of the room, I checked out the sights. They threw out thin red beams across the windows. I changed a few things inside the PPKs to make them full-auto. The clips would empty in a single burst unless I lightly tapped the trigger for single shots. I also changed out the regular clips for 24 round banana clips. Perfect. Now for the other two guns. As I worked, I listened to the Old Man.

  “Yes, she’s dead, for now, but Caine has a plan.”

  “Did he not have a plan the last time?” Hiro asked.

  Everyone’s so picky.

  “Well, yes, but he does get the job done when pushed this far toward vengeance. It’s his only redeeming trait,” Old Man said.

  Wow, a complement and a backhanded at the same time.

  “Lauphram, she’s dead. My daughter is dead. I just want to take her and give her the honorable burial she deserves.”

  My fingers worked automatically as I sneered. What she deserved was freedom to learn how to protect herself. And giving her a .38 special wouldn’t have hurt

  Old Man laid a hand on Hiro’s shoulder. “Please calm down. We will bring her back to you, alive. I give you my word of honor.”

  Old Man was putting a lot on the line; the head of the clan saying something like that meant failure would come with a heavy price. He rose from his chair, walked over to me, and stole two of the drinks I’d made. Without a word, he returned to Hiro and gave him one.

  Hiro took the glass, and
looked up at Old Man with the eyes of a child doubting consolation, the tooth fairy, and Santa Claus all at once.

  Old Man smiled and patted Hiro on the head, like that small gesture fixed everything wrong in the world.

  I remember Old Man doing that to me when I was hurt, or going nuts, killing everything around me. That head pat had done more for me than any spell could have.

  Old Man said, “The warlock has an amulet that can bring Haruka back with no problem. We are keeping her body safe—and cold—to prevent further damage.”

  “If you bring life back to her, will she be the same as before?” Hiro asked. “I have heard stories that things like this never go well.”

  Old Man shrugged. “Well, since we’re not depending on the Necronomicom, it should all work out, somehow.”

  I was suddenly aware that Leona had faded in, taking one of the stools at the end of the bar, watching Hiro and Old Man like I was.

  Old Man said, “Caine is my son. I trust him to get this done, Hiro. He may be a lot of things, but a pushover isn’t one of them. If that were true, my training would have killed him long ago.”

  True.

  Hiro drained his glass in a gulp.

  I put my fine-tuned weapons onto my harness and went about throwing back a drink of my own.

  I was already making more when Old Man came over to grab refills. He waited as I mixed them, eyes boring into my skull. I saw how much this meant to him, giving his word of honor, comforting Hiro, even giving me a half-assed complement. If I was a better person, I’d have cared about Hiro’s pain, but being me, I just wanted payback from the warlock bastard—that, a new sword, and having a fine hottie like Haruka grateful to me was all that mattered.

  “I need you to do me a couple favors,” Old Man said.

  “Depends on the favors,” I said.

  “Bring the long mirror from the armory up here and put it by the fireplace.”

  “Why.”

  “Just do it. And one more thing…” He extended a finger across the bar and touched the Kevlar I wore. Over my heart, a storm-blue shimmer of dancing motes appeared. The mystic light died a moment later, leaving an addition to my armor. I looked down at a self-adhering disk against my chest. It was a three-and-a-half inch mirror framed by polished, white jade.

  I looked back up into Old Man’s eyes. “What’s this, some kind of protective talisman?”

  “Better,” he said. “You’ll see.”

  Leona snorted. “That old mirror trick of yours? I haven’t seen it in years. Are you sure it will work?”

  “One can always hope.” Old Man took the new drinks I made and went back to Hiro.

  I was getting damn tired of people treating me like their personal bartender. I threw back another drink and went to fetch him the mirror he’d asked for. I hauled it back upstairs, out from behind the bar, and set it up across the room.

  Hiro eyed the glass with quiet calculation.

  Old Man nodded approval and brought his hands together in front of him. His fingers curled as if he were holding an invisible sword. Electric blue light shot up five feet into the air. The light took on the shape of a broadsword, then the light snapped out, leaving a real sword in its place. The thing had a blue pearl the size of a golf ball on the pommel. The hand guard was a stylized squid with a ruby for an eye. The iron tentacles curved around the grip to create a protective basket for the fingers. The blade was wide, possessed a blood groove, and was made of white coral etched with ancient Atlantean runes.

  The relic was Old Man’s personal sword. When I took over the clan, it would become mine. My hand itched to hold the coral weapon and learn its many secrets.

  Old Man told Hiro, “We, too, will have a part to play, but we must wait for the right time.”

  Hiro crossed his arms protectively across his chest, staring at his image in the looking glass. “How will we know when it is time?”

  Old Man smiled. “That is what the mirror is for. Watch.”

  He touched the frame of the mirror, caressing certain runes in a pattern I’d not used before. I memorized the sequence. My own gaze was pulled to the glass. Instead of reflecting what was before it, the glass became rimmed with an aqua light. Both Old Man and Hiro appeared in the glass as seen from my perspective. Their images rippled as if caught by a pond, not a mirror. I waved my fingers across the little mirror on my chest. Magnified tremendously, my fingers blurred across the larger mirror. The mirror I wore had become a vid camera and the larger mirror was displaying what I saw.

  Hiro’s eyes widened in surprise.

  Old Man told him, “You will see the coming battle with your own eyes. You will see the efforts Caine makes on your behalf.”

  “It’s not enough,” Hiro said. “When your son goes into battle, I want him to take a force of my own men with him. They, too, failed to keep my daughter safe, and burn with the need to atone.”

  “They’ll just get themselves killed.” I said. “And get in my way.”

  Uncrossing his arms, Hiro faced Old Man, “Is it too much to ask, old friend?”

  Thrilled by my irritation, Old Man shot me an amused glance. “Not at all. Your security force is welcome to tag along.”

  I shrugged. It would give Salem more red shirts to kill and give me time to cut through his defenses once we found him. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take your cannon fodder along.”

  “You obey me with so little grace.” Old Man sighed, and returned his attention to Hiro. “See what I have to deal with? Be glad you have a good kid.”

  Hiro said, “The moment I get her back, I will let her know how proud I’ve always been.”

  I returned to the bar and threw back the last of the drinks. Grabbing the bag, I took out the last items I needed, extra thin leather gloves. They’d leave no prints and not interfere with my dexterity. I checked my suit’s forearm guards, pressing the releases one at a time to make sure the spring powered bayonets were working. They snicked, and seven inch blades popped out. Pressing the tips against the side of the bar, I pushed them back in until they locked in place again. I had to be careful. The suit wasn’t field tested. It would be embarrassing if the mechanism lost its grip on the extending blade and I wound up stabbing myself in the foot … again.

  “That’s nifty,” Leona said from her barstool. “Fake claws.” She raised a paw and showed me hers. “I like mine better though.”

  Old Man’s cell phone went off, playing the Black-eyed Peas’ My Humps.

  I looked at him.

  Hiro looked at him.

  Leona choked, laughing too hard.

  “What?” Old Man said. “I like the song.” He answered the call, listened, and said “I’ll tell him.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Albino John at the Aes Sídhe. He says he has information you’ll want to pay him for.”

  “A little too late,” I said. “The warlock’s the problem now, not the succubus.”

  “Old Man listened some more, nodded, and hung up. “Go talk to him. He says there are slayers at the club, ones he’s seen with a certain warlock we want to find.”

  I smiled. “I’m on my way.” I looked at Hiro. “Have your men meet me there. I want to see how they handle themselves.”

  “Going to destroy another nightclub?” Leona asked.

  “Hey,” I said, “it’s what I do.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Don’t believe what they say;

  violence solves everything.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The line outside of Aes Sidhe was shorter, conspicuously lacking preternaturals. The usual bouncer had been replaced by two slayers with black Kevlar armor under their long coats. Each chest plate bore a fancy crest; a bleeding, black rose with a sword superimposed over it. The aura of fey magic around the nightclub had been replaced with one of earth magic.

  As I walked past the line people hoping to get in, the slayers gave me a once over, studying what they could of the zombie apocalypse suit under my
own long coat. If I’d had a crest on my chest instead of what looked like a compact mirror, they’d have assumed I was one of them.

  “I need to see Albino John about a warlock,” I said.

  The bouncer on the left blocked me with a palm. “Wait in line, freak.”

  The bouncer on the right waved on a couple at the head of the line.

  I took half a step back and kicked the first man in the jewels. He gasped, wheezed, and bent at the waist. His cheeks flushed, puffing out.

  His partner lunged at me.

  I used the heel of my hand to shunt his elbow as he threw a punch. This made his fist miss my head. As his fist hung over my left shoulder, I used a leopard paw strike against his throat, cutting off his air. He dropped to his knees, choking. Mercifully, I slammed their heads together and they collapsed to the pavement, unconscious.

  Mesmerized by the sudden violence, those at the head of the line stared at me.

  I stared back. “I really hate waiting in line.”

  I stepped over the slayers and stopped on the threshold. It was new. In the center was an ancient Hebrew symbol, the circles of Solomon. Had I been a true demon, I would have been stopped here. As it was, I crossed over with a smile in place. Screw you, Solomon.

  Inside the club, the festivities were going more full-throttle than usual. Scantily clad women hung from the ceiling on wide bands of silk, doing routines more common to Las Vegas. The slayers were everywhere, in battle gear, many of them baring wounds they’d taken from the wolves at the Mission. The fey bartenders and waitresses were gone, replaced by biker chicks that looked like they could handle a lot more than drinks. Anything fey had been stripped from the walls. The slayers had moved in and the placed had become human only.