Red Moon Demon (Demon Lord)

by Blayde, Morgan

  Either Albino John had been pressed into service during the on-going transition, or he’d traded masters. Either way, he’d probably not called me on his own. Chances were good I was walking into a trap, despite the attitude I’d been met with at the front door.

  I pushed through the human crowd to reach the back hallway. The black door past the restrooms drew my eyes. Two slayers guarded it. They wore headsets, muttering into them as I approached. I stopped in front of them. “Do I have to go through you guys too?” I asked.

  The one on the left spoke, “We’ve been told to let you through.”

  “Someone around here has some common sense,” I said.

  They moved aside, opening the black door. I went through, up a flight of steps, and kicked in the upstairs door to the office. When no gunfire sprayed out the door, I cautiously took a fast peek. No goons were waiting to unload. There were several slayers seated inside near the wall of one-way glass. Behind the office desk, Albino John had his feet up, his hands laced behind his neck as he leaned back in his leather chair. A lit cigar occupied one corner of his mouth, a curl of blue smoke spiraling up from the end.

  I strolled into the office, my guns holstered.

  Albino John’s eyes stabbed like a stiletto of hate, the effect somewhat diminished by being red and teary. His nose looked inflamed. This time, there were no lines of coke on the desk, waiting to be inhaled. John flashed a vicious smile. “About time you got here. These gentlemen want to have a discussion with you.”

  I stopped where I could see everyone in the room.

  There was a click. I tensed but didn’t go for my gun since no one else was in motion. Slowly, John brought his hands into view. One of them held a remote control. I heard a hum. Directing my attention, John pointed the remote at the ceiling where the hum came from. I glanced up. A black light lamp?

  I looked down at the carpet. Ultraviolet paint now glowed neon green around all around me—the seal of Solomon; four concentric rings surrounding the Star of David, scribbling all over it.

  I laughed, and shook my head sadly.

  Near the one-way glass that overlooked the dance floor, one of the slayers stood, kicking over his chair. “What’s your problem?”

  I pointed at the phosphorescence on the carpet. “You guys actually expect that to work?”

  Another slayer made a restraining motion toward him. That second man had steel gray hair, a clean shaven face, and green-slate eyes that peered at me, one brow lifting. He was the oldest. An aura of strength seeped from him, a feeling of earth magic. I smelled freshly turned earth, and dew-dampened foliage from him, the residue of the plant’s life force. It had touched him many times. Of the slayers, he was openly unarmed, as if mundane weapons couldn’t threaten him. This was no one to take lightly.

  Next to him, also seated, was a female slayer in black leather. Her hair was midnight black, her eyes dead black. Her skin was bleached white, her nails crimson and long. A sawed-off shotgun lay on a loveseat next to her. She smiled at me, flashing a bit of fang. I noticed her gaze dropping to the little mirror on my chest, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.

  Vampire? Keeping company with slayers?

  The leader of the slayers asked, “Are you not a demon, son of Lauphram?”

  I said, “Actually, no. He’s my adopted father.”

  The leader nodded. “I see.” His gaze slashed across the room to Albino John. “We were misinformed.”

  John slid his feet off the desk, sitting up. “I didn’t know, Carson, honest.”

  “You should have.” Carson switched his attention back to me. It didn’t seem to bother him I had a psychological advantage, peering down at him. “Caine, we’ve come looking for Sarah Cooper. She was one of us, for a while, a slayer in training. She took a relic from our vaults, something dangerous.”

  “Very dangerous,” the woman said.

  “I know,” I said. “I’ve faced the power of the necklace several times now.”

  “And you’re still alive?” the standing slayer said.

  “Apparently,” I stared at the woman, “though looks can be deceiving.”

  I was fishing for an explanation and she knew it. She said, “I look vampire but I’m not.”

  But not human either. I nodded in sudden understanding. “A dhampyr; your mother was human, your father a vampire.”

  “Right,” she said. Her gaze flicked to the mirror again. She couldn’t figure out why the thing was featured so prominently on a battle suit. She had no way to know that Hiro and Old Man were keeping tabs on me.

  Carson spoke up, “My granddaughter is human enough to be a slayer, and vampire enough to be one of our best.”

  She stared through me. “What about you? Are you anything other than a traitor to your race?”

  Briefly, I indulged a fantasy where I killed every male in the room, stripped the girl, and spanked her into submission. I shook off the vision, reminding myself I had business to conduct here.

  “We want Sarah,” Carson said, “and the necklace.”

  “Don’t you already have the necklace?” I asked. “Salem was working for you guys, right?”

  “He has it?” the woman said.

  I said, “Yeah, until I find him and rip his spleen out, along with a few other internal organs.”

  The slayers looked at each other, an uneasy tension gripping them.

  “Betrayed again?” I said. “Hard to get good help.”

  The woman scooped up her shotgun and stood. “That black-hearted bastard. I’ll kill him!”

  “You know where to find him?” I asked.

  “I have a good idea,” she said.

  “Can I come,” I asked. “After all, you’re engaged in operations within my territory.”

  “Hell, no,” Vivian said.

  The unnamed male slayer glared my way. “This is slayer business.”

  I shrugged. “Well I could just kill you all and be done with it, after I make you talk of course.”

  My protective tattoo burned, activating against a sudden attack. Motion at the edge of sight drew my attention to the source of the threat. Albino John stood with a nasty grin on his face and a shotgun in his hand. Gilded runes were inset on the barrel. I didn’t need to take a chance, and it was time to leave anyway, so I activated the tatts on my legs—knowing I’d pay the cost for vampire speed an hour from now.

  I ran straight at Vivian.

  Afraid he’d hit her, John held his shot.

  With dhampyr speed, Vivian swung the butt of her shotgun at my head as I closed with her. She underestimated my speed.

  I ducked under her swing, speared a shoulder into her midsection, and lifted her off her feet. Together, we sailed through the one-way glass. It shattered around us and the noise of the bar hit us like a wall. We dropped in a rain of razor shards, and I made sure the dhampyr hit first, cushioning my fall for me. The impact knocked her out. I checked for vital signs. Her breathing was strong. Takes almost as much to stop a dhampyr as a full vampire. That was good. As a hostage, she’d get me out of here, and after I interrogated her, I’d know where Salem was. Overall, things were looking up for a change.

  The crowd, sprinkled with broken glass, screamed and roared in confusion. A general stampede from my location began, which made it easy to spot the four slayers running flat out for me, against the press of the crowd.

  I pulled Vivian up and over my shoulder, her head hanging in front of me, not behind as was usually done. I had a PPK with laser sight in my hand, the muzzle against Vivian’s head.

  The slayers broke free of the retreating crowd, but stopped dead. They knew if they got their leader’s granddaughter killed, they’d soon be dead as well, or worse. One of the slayers whipped out a Glock 23, the official service pistol of many FBI agents and other law enforcement agencies. He barked a command, “Put her down, now!”

  Yeah, I’m going to make myself a target so you can blow me away. I don’t think so.

  “I’m leaving,” I said. “
Try anything and she dies.”

  “Wait,” another slayer holstered his colt .45 and pushed down the Glock that was aimed at my head. “Take me instead. I’m on my feet. She’s not. Make it easier on yourself.”

  “I’m heading for the door,” I said. “If I take any heat, she takes a bullet to the skull. Understand?”

  Another slayers said, “We understand. There will be no trouble. Just leave her outside on the curb, and we won’t follow.”

  Like I believe that.

  I smiled. “Sure, I’ll do that,” I lied.

  The slayers in the room provided crowd control, holding the civilians back so I had an open corridor to the front door. I faced the room, moving sideways for the door, my back to the bar and the bartenders. I figured one of them would try something, but I counted on my protective shield to handle it. I was halfway to the door when something shattered against my shield, from the sound, a bottle. I spun and tapped the trigger for a single round. My slug hit the bar-bitches’ shoulder. I spun back around to see all the slayers in the room pointing their weapons my way. However, having seen my protective shield in action, they didn’t waste their ammo.

  Things were going too good to last. I sensed disaster breathing down my neck. Hiro’s men burst into the bar, blocking my escape route. They bristled with guns, every last one of them in black suit and tie, with sunglasses in place. It looked like a men-in-black convention. They ducked for cover, as the slayers opened up on them, screaming, “It’s the Yakuza!”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “The purpose of a human shield is to

  keep one’s armor from getting dirty.

  This doesn’t always work.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  The band played a metal cover of Barroom Blitz as the crowd screamed and ran for the back exits. The Slayers held their fire through the exodus, turning over tables to use as shields. I started to move with the human herd, taking advantage of their cover, but several of Hiro’s men raced up and surrounded me in an attempt to provide protection.

  I shoved out from between two of my protectors, carefully balancing Vivian on my shoulder. As I ran, more of Hiro’s men followed, firing wildly to keep slayers ducking so they couldn’t shoot back. I felt my shield flicker, as if undecided about turning on, and was driven to my knees as someone landed on me. I rolled. Vivian slid off my shoulder and sprawled, groaning, her eyelids fluttering. Next to her was a scantily-clad young blonde with way too much makeup, one of the acrobat-dancers from off a dangling silk ribbon. She’d picked a hell of a time to lose her grip, probably panicked by the gunfire.

  I understood why my shield hadn’t activated; nearly naked woman throwing themselves at me was a common fantasy, not what I’d consider a danger.

  I pushed to my feet and reached for Vivian once more. As I touched her, bringing her inside my shield’s usual activation range, she lunged up, wrapping around my leg like a dog in heat.

  “Come on,” I said, “we really don’t have time for this.”

  She sank her fangs into my thigh and held on for dear life. The suit I wore would have stopped a slug, but her vampire fangs pierced the material, sliding between the tungsten fibers.

  I cursed, “Son of a … bat!”

  One of my protectors fell with a slug in his shoulder. Most of the others were reloading, crouching so I was totally exposed. Damn! Don’t they know how to do anything right? Where did Hiro get these people? Idiots ß Us? I pulled a couple flash bang grenades off my belt and slung them across the floor toward the slayers. I threw out a couple impact smoke bombs for extra measure.

  The slayers were now out from behind their tables, in full charge against us. Ignoring the bitch gnawing my leg, I warmed a dragon blood tat—and felt every nerve scream as if someone was skinning me with a potato peeler—but my voice transformed to thunder. “Everyone stop!”

  The band froze. The slayers seized up mid-stride. My own guys became statues. The rest of the women on the silk ribbons fell thudding to the floor. The last of the fleeing crowd lost impetus, becoming even more mindless. The only one that didn’t stop was Vivian. She had enough vamp in her to be immune to my power of suggestion, having that same power herself.

  I didn’t want to pistol whip her, her head was already damaged, bleeding heavily. Another head blow might kill her, and she was too hot to die unless really, really necessary. The smell of her own blood had probably been what had brought her around, triggering this feeding hunger. When fully back in her senses, this would probably embarrass her. She was supposed to be one of the good guys.

  I pulled the mirror off my chest, turned it in my hand and said, “Old Man, we need a demon gate, now!”

  Hiro’s men and the slayers were now mixed in a violent dance. The danger of each side hitting their own guys was too great, so street fighting replaced gunplay. Now I saw what Hiro’s men were good at. Hand to hand. The slayers went down en mass.

  The way to the front door was suddenly clear.

  I looked into my mirror again and said, “Never mind.”

  I dropped my full weight onto the knee Vivian clung to. This drove her back to the floor, my knee sinking into her abdomen. Even with the muzzle of my PPK to her head, she still didn’t let go, though more sense seemed to be returning, wiping the haze of hunger from her face. I pulled the gun away and taunted her. “Like father, like daughter. He’d be so proud to see you now.”

  She released my leg, shoving me off her with vampire strength.

  I hit the floor, skidded toward the door, and rolled to my feet while slapping the little mirror back on my chest again.

  I called out to Hiro’s men. “C’mon, let’s go!”

  Bristling with guns once more, they covered my retreat. We ran through the smoke from the bombs I’d released, and were out the door as sirens shrieked closer. We were keeping the cops busy tonight. They’d probably had to call in all off duty cops to deal with all the hot spots I was leaving.

  Hiro’s guys had two black vans waiting at the curb. As they loaded up, two of the Japanese paused to high-five each other.

  I groaned in the depths of my soul. They slammed doors and drove off.

  I headed for my own vehicle. I was rounding the hood when Albino John popped up from hiding, that rune etched shotgun still gripped in his grubby little hands. He smiled with delight, pointing the muzzle at my face. Cold fear settled in my guts as I realized that my shield was still dormant. The runes on his weapon were making my tat blind to his threat.

  “Gottcha, now!” he said. “Twitch, and you die.”

  I saw the bloodlust in his eyes. He was going to shoot anyway, but he’d take a moment to gloat first. All bad guys were the same.

  I warmed my Dragon Flame tat, preparing to use it.

  Albino John said, “Who’s the little punk ass bitch now, huh? Who’s the damned—?”

  Old Man’s hand emerged from the mirror on my chest along with several inches of wrist.

  Albino John stared in shock.

  I stared in shock. Then I realized that the white jade frame had expanded magically to allow Old Man’s oversized hand through. The hand flexed its fingers. A ball of violet-white lightning filled the palm, reeling off an electric storm of jags that made a blackened, crispy critter out of Not–So-Albino John. He died on his feet, blasted backwards out of his shoes. The shot gun went flying high into the air.

  I caught it with one hand. Hmmm, something new for my collection.

  Old Man’s hand withdrew back into the mirror.

  I got into my mustang and drove off. I was several blocks away—heading for Gloria’s place—when my phone played Tears of the Dragon. I knew that was Old Man, asking me what the hell I was doing. For once, I had a very good answer

  I flipped my phone open and said, “Yeah?”

  “What the hell are you doing? We need the female slayer to find the warlock, and you drive off and leave her behind?”

  I smiled. “Old Man, shut the fuck up.” Startled, he fell silent. I
went on. “Things are going according to plan.”

  There was a long silence. His voice returned, vibrating with curiosity. “Okay, what did I miss?”

  “We don’t need to have the dhampyr, just to follow her. She’s going after Salem.”

  “You’re not at the club anymore. How are you going to follow her?”

  “That’s where Gloria comes in.”

  * * *

  I stopped my mustang behind Gloria’s bar, and got out. Hiro’s men parked the black vans behind me. Old Man had to have sent them after me. I probably ought to ditch this stupid mirror—Hiro’s men too. There’s just so much helpfulness I can take.

  I walked to the driver’s door of the van.

  He rolled down his window.

  I said, “Wait here. I need to speak to someone inside to find out where we go next.”

  Sharply, the drive nodded his head once. “Hai, Deathwalker-san.”

  The bar was closed, but Gloria’s home lay on the upper floor, and she’d still be awake. Vampires don’t crash until dawn. I didn’t have to knock hard; with her vampire hearing, she’d know someone was here. She might even recognize my heartbeat—through the door. I called out, “Gloria, Adrian sends his love.”