Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (19 page)

The air became chill. I leaned on Chris’
back, my arms beneath his armpits, hands on his chest. The cold
didn’t bother him.

One of his hands folded over mine and
patted. “It won’t be long,” he said as velocity carried his voice
past me.

A second later, his hand no longer patted;
it stroked, his long, smooth fingers running back and forth over
mine. I should pull my hand away. I should sit up straight. But I
huddled against his back, holding on tight. I knew it wasn’t Chris;
it was his delicious demon heat. It reminded me of Royal and I
missed it, I missed him. But for now, a familiar, encompassing
warmth soothed and warmed me and I didn’t want to let go.

Our headlamps pierced the night. Shapes
reared around us; I couldn’t tell if they were ruins or natural
monoliths. Windows in solitary houses far on our right shone
yellow. We passed a farm, the outbuildings and house illuminated by
strategically placed lamps atop tall posts. Ahead, in the middle of
nowhere, light from a good-sized town made the sky above
orange.

Gia pulled up and Chris braked to ease in
beside her. The Harley idled, sputtering. What was clearly a large
community sat on the flat plain. Red, yellow, white and orange
lights twinkled in dark shapes which looked black in the
twilight.

Gia and Chris cut their engines at the same
time. The dead air settled over us, silent but for a low, distant
burr. Traffic, if I were not mistaken.

“What do you think?” Chris asked Gia.

“It will have to do. We can circle and come
in on the other side. I remember a few hostels in a less than
desirable sector; basic, but we can slip in unnoticed.”

Chris would have sounded offended but for
the lilt to his voice. “Surely you jest, dear Lady. I, go
unnoticed? Why, the locals will - ”

Gia effectively cut him off by igniting her
bullet bike.

He sighed theatrically, making sure I heard,
before bringing the Harley to life, gunning the engine and
following her.

We came to a crossroads and turned right.
The road widened as we followed it in a wide loop bearing left
around the town. Intermittently placed street lamps sprang up. We
passed a big plant lit up like a nova, the stink of sulfur in the
air. I turned my face the other way to avoid the glare which made
me squint.

We angled nearer the town, in seconds at a
crossroads where five roads met. We turned left. More lamps lined
the road now. We were soon on the outskirts. We passed a small
strip mall, darkened stores with metal grills over doors and
windows.

Another turn and we rode between small,
two-story, dilapidated buildings. Even in the dim light, I saw
peeling paint and graffiti on walls. A few Gelpha moved along the
sidewalk, striding with deliberation, hurrying to their
destination. Others stood outside buildings, talking, or sat on the
edge of the sidewalk with their feet in the gutter.

I would not call it a slum, but it was
rundown, seedy.

We sped along, the bikes’ roar amplified by
canyon-like streets. I couldn’t tell what we passed; I couldn’t
read the Gelpha characters on the walls and doors and saw none of
the universal, identifying signs familiar in my world.

We pulled up outside an anonymous building.
From the depth of the entrance, I judged the walls were thick; they
looked something like adobe. Pale yellow light shone from gaps
surrounding shutters on large windows. A foyer lay beyond the open
door. At first my noise-deadened ears heard nothing, then faint
voices and music seeped in, and I smelled a sweet, smoky aroma I
could not identify.

Chris went inside but rejoined us in a
jiffy, two keys jingling from his fingers.

In the small, rectangular foyer, a single
warm orange ceiling light cast a lambent glow over the muscular
demon behind the desk, bright enough to pick out the glinting
strands in his hair and the swirling copper pattern in the
camel-brown walls, but not dispel the shadows in the corners. The
desk sat against the wall on our left, beyond that a wood staircase
crept up till it turned to the right and out of sight. Beyond the
desk, a hall led from the foyer to a door through which pale yellow
light shone. The clatter of utensils and dishes, voices chatting
and that smoky aroma pointed to a place which served food.

I cannot say Gia and I were inconspicuous as
we followed Chris in the hostel wearing motorcycle helmets and
visors. The Gelpha at the desk didn’t take his eyes off us.

Gia sped to the desk, a shadow shape moving
through the foyer. She seemed to reform out of the air, leaned in
to bring her face close to the Gelpha’s, and just like that she
laid a geis on him. I presumed that’s what she did, because his
eyes slid aside and concentrated on me and Chris, as if Gia were
not there.

His eyes drilled my back as I followed Chris
up the stairs.

were on the first floor, facing across the
corridor left of the stairwell. Chris handed Gia a key, but his
simmering gray eyes were on me. “If you need anything. A foot
massage. A - ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know where you are.” I was in
no mood for his inane chatter. I followed Gia, closing the door
behind me.

“This is . . . ah . . . basic,” I observed
as I perused the room.

Two single beds with thin, off-white covers
sat side by side, a small brown table between them. Wooden pegs
marched in a row on the dingy tan wall next the door. The floor was
worn wood boards. Places on the walls were smeared, as if someone
attacked them with a damp cloth but gave up after a few swipes. A
single bare light bulb hung from the middle of the ceiling. That
was it. At least the door had heavy bolts top and bottom.

A single door, the one we came in. Our room
didn’t have a bathroom.

I pulled the helmet off and dropped it on
the nearest bed. My head throbbed with a dull ache as I scratched
my scalp, which itched with sweat. I wanted nothing more than to
unbraid my hair and stand under a hot shower. I sat on the edge of
the firm mattress and gave it the bounce test. It barely gave, and
the springs creaked.

“Okay, so Dun Falmor had a crowd of dead
people and I saw who killed them. It looked like a man covered in
flames, and his men did the deed.”

Wearing her helmet with the visor flipped
up, Gia stood near the door. “Orcus.” She shrugged one shoulder.
“But we are here for Cicero, not the Burning Man. Forget what you
saw.”

Forget? She had to be kidding. My mouth
thinned as I gave her a sour look.

She brought the visor down and put her hand
on the doorknob. “I’m going back out to look around. I won’t be
long. Stay in the room.” She fastened the helmet’s chin strap. “Do
you need anything before I leave?”

I parodied a wince. “Yeah, the
facilities.”

The helmet nodded. “Very well. I will
accompany you.”

So we were girlfriends going to the bathroom
together? I made to follow her, but she didn’t open the door.

I reluctantly regarded my helmet. Right.
Have to be anonymous. But I hated to wear the thing again. I opened
my backpack and found my hoodie. Putting it on, I tugged the hood
down so it all but hid my face.

Gia nodded. I followed her through the door.
Chris’s door came open and he stuck his head around the frame.

I sighed. “We’re going to the bathroom.”

“If you need any help. . . ,” he said with
twinkling eyes and wicked grin.

I shook my head in mute irritation. Did he
never let up?

Gia led me to a door farther along the
corridor, stood aside and gestured for me to enter. It did have a
sign on a square piece of wood on the wall, but in that Gelpha
script. Chaldean?

The bathroom surprised me. I expected an
unsavory facility dingy as the foyer and our room, but it was
spacious, with gleaming white tile floor and walls. A white ceramic
commode and big, deep oval tub faced me. A pipe with shower head
angled from the wall above the tub and a transparent shower curtain
could be pulled around. A wood stool and small table were the only
furnishings.

No towels. No washcloths. No guest soaps,
shampoos and lotions. Travelers in Bel-Athaer must carry their
own.

I brought my mini-products but did not think
about towels.

At least a roll of toilet paper hung on a
wall holder. I did what I had to and rejoined Gia, who leaned
against the wall beside the door. A floorboard protested loudly
beneath my foot as we walked back to our room. Feeling
uncharacteristically edgy, I almost froze in place. The corridor
was too dim. The deeply recessed doorways looked like dark
hollows.

Gia stayed outside when I went in our room.
“Bolt the door. I’ll bring something to eat when I return.”

The damn room didn’t even have a window.
With nothing to do, I pushed my hood back, lay on the bed and
stared at the ceiling. I dozed, struggling awake each time I
started to nod off.

I remembered the chocolate bar and shifted
to ease it from my back pocket. It had gone soft, but I ate it
anyway. Sitting up, I found my diet cola in the backpack, but the
can felt warm. Did they have ice here? I’d ask Gia when she
returned.

After what seemed hours, but had to be less,
I decided to brush my teeth. I wasn’t hungry, I would not eat
whatever Gia brought, and my tongue refused to stay away from the
film on my teeth.

The tiny bottle of shampoo caught my eye as
I took toothbrush and toothpaste from my backpack.

Royal enjoyed helping me with my hair. I
went into something akin to rapture as he dried it with the demon
heat of his hands. My sight blurred. I imagined him behind me as I
sat between his knees, a skein of hair sliding through his palms. I
felt his breath on my bare neck.

I had to stop slipping into daydreams of
Royal. It helped neither him nor me.

I pulled my hood low on my forehead, slid
the bolts aside and closed the door behind me as quietly as I
could. Getting to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and leaving took
less than five minutes.

Standing squarely in the middle of the
passage, legs apart, a man blocked my way. I did not mistake him
for a guest.

Clad in tight-fitting black from head to toe
- slippers, pants, long-sleeved shirt - an attached hood covered
his head and a mask or piece of material his lower face. I couldn’t
even see his eyes. Only his pale hands showed. He moved lithely as
he slid along the corridor toward me. Closer, I saw a black strap
stretched from his shoulder diagonally across his chest to his
waist.

His left hand went behind his back, his
right over his right shoulder. Completing the Ninja effect, he
lifted his hand, bringing with it a long, gleaming, slightly angled
blade.

Uh oh.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

I crouched, brandishing a toothbrush in one
hand and tube of toothpaste in the other.

Then he looked up and I saw his pale-blue
eyes. Human. I can hold my own against humans.

I threw the toothbrush and toothpaste at
him.

And he
ducked!
What Ninja ducks
dental hygiene products? They must not teach defense against that
type of lethal weapons in his dojo.

Underestimating your opponent may be your
last mistake. I swore and rocked sideways as his blade slashed out,
but the edge sliced into my upper arm. With a yelp, I slammed
against the wall and my hand automatically clamped on the wound.
Blood oozed between my fingers.

He joined both hands on the sword’s hilt,
raised it high and came at me.

I had seconds to notice the way he held his
sword, the tendons on back of his hands standing out, skin leached
of color from the strength of his grip. A downward cut is hard to
pull out of if you put as much power into it as this guy did.
Efficient if your victim is paralyzed by terror or pain, or tied
down, not so much if they are nimble. This guy was not a pro, but I
was injured and stunned that he managed to cut me. I was finished
if I waited for the blade to descend. I tried to believe the sting
in my arm which would soon blossom into pain was not there, nor the
blood running down inside my sleeve to the back of my hand.

Attack often
is
the best means of
defense and surprise is a huge advantage, so I moved a second
before he reached me and brought the blade down on my head.
Clasping my hands, bobbing down, I ducked beneath his left arm and
twisted behind him, and put all the power I could muster into
elbowing him in the kidneys.

His back arced into the blow, his arms
jerked up. I shoved him into the wall with my shoulder. He had the
wherewithal to twitch the blade aside before it cut his face, and
his shoulder caught the brunt of the collision.

He turned and swung before I could close in
and go for his sword arm, sweeping the sword in a wide arc which
brought the tip perilously near my ribcage. I skipped back.

He swept the sword again as he came for me.
Moving back was my only choice. I needed a weapon, but I only had
my empty hands.

A door on my right opened. I dodged toward
it and barely missed a cut meant for my nape. Another black-clad
figure who had materialized behind me cursed as his long blade
struck the door frame and lodged there. The door slammed before I
could reach it, but as I headed in that direction anyway, I rammed
into the new guy. His wrist hit the heavy doorknob, his hand came
open. His sword hung from the doorframe.

I didn’t go for the sword; I would not know
what to do with it. I swiveled past Ninja Two and ended up with my
back to the wall a few feet behind him but still on the wrong side;
he stood between me and my room.

My peripheral vision caught another black
shape coming at me kitty-corner.
Jesus Christ!
Where were
they coming from? They seemed to slip from crevices, like
roaches.