Demon Lord 3: Blue Star Priestess (33 page)

I grinned at them.  “I’m back.  Go kill the fatted calf.”

Washed in the fierce, red glare of my demon sword, the seemed thicker, as if suffused with blood.  Kinsey backed away, smelling of fear.  I let satisfaction shine in mine.  Her eyes widened in realization; she was putting herself in a bad light.  She stopped and revved up her courage.  I didn’t blame her for being afraid; I was quite a quite different me than the one who’d left. 

Drake a
ffected coolness, stepping forward, holding out a business card.  “Come see us when you’ve cleaned up this current mess.  We’ll talk.”

I lifted my demon sword, extending it inside his reach, holding the tip a foot from his face.   “Do you want to die right now?” I asked. 

Drake took an old leather diary out from under his other arm, put the business card inside, and held both out.  “Here’s a down payment on what we promised.  The diary was your mother’s.”  

“One thing more,
” I lowered the point of my weapon, “if you hear about a little girl that’s been kidnapped, a baby dragon, I’d appreciate hearing about it.” 

“Girl dragon?”  Kinsey managed to look startled and grim at the same time.  “We’ll look.  If you find her captors first, call me.  Just this once, I’ll fight at your side.”  She stepped closer and held out my new phone.  “You dropped it when you left.  I’ve added a message number where you can reach us.  Don’t
call frivolously, or I’ll block the number.”

“Ever gracious.” 
I checked.  A new contact number did filled the display.  “Thanks.”  I pocketed the phone and walked away, giving Kinsey a final flutter goodbye with my wings.  Final because the appendages were dying, shriveling, sloughing away.  My back was returning to its normal muscle configuration, my circulatory system adjusting as my shoulder blades reformed.  Heading to the front of the property, I went as a human, my golden-glow tattoos dying down, going dormant.  I gave my wrist a flick, willing the demon sword back to its armory.  The crappy, patched-together sheath I tossed aside.  At the front fence, I found a big hole that wasn’t there earlier.  Beyond, hands on hips, stood the Red Lady.   Waiting with smoldering eyes.

THIRTY-FOUR

“If someone has to kill the dead,

it might as well be me.
”

                                       —Caine Deathwalker

The Red Lady’s confidence was absolute, the sense of her power overwhelming.  With less than half a thought, she could turn me to rusty Martian grit blowing in the wind.  But her eyes shied from mine.  The flow of time had transformed me into her fondest memory.  She’d waited millennia for me to know what she did about our first meeting from her perspective.  Now she’d learn what it meant to me. 

“I’m not giving up my harem, my independence, or my life here in L.A.  I will fight my own battles.  I will do my own killing.  I’m not ready to settle down, nor will I ever be.  If you have plans of reforming me, forget it.  As for keeping me a sex toy chained in your basement, forget it—except maybe an occasional weekend here and there.  That being said…”  I waited.

As the silence dragged out, her gaze sought mine.  “Yes?”

The dragon side of me rushed in, a crushing darkness that shoved me aside.  I think it was only for a few moments, maybe minutes.  When I returned to my senses, I was lying on top of Selene, pinning her to the sidewalk.  I had one knee between her legs, one hand firmly planted over her right breast, holding it in a death grip she didn’t protest.  My weight was on my knees and my left arm.  My left hand elevated her head, buried in her crimson locks.  Her eyes were closed.  Our lips were smashed together, tongues thrashing like mating dragons.

I pulled my lips away. 

Selene’s mouth hung open as if she could never drink her fill.  Her eyes opened, shining with a bloody light like twin gates to a dragon’s paradise.  I spoke, my voice rougher, deeper than it should have been as both sides of me answered.  “You are mine.  You know it in your soul.  I know it.  No games, ever.  Not between us.”

A moment later, she found her voice.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”  That was too easy.

“In a time that is yet to come, I know I will have first place among your hearts treasures.  I have waited centuries for you to acknowledge possession of me.  I can wait ages more for your confession of love.  Acquiring true immortality gives one … a long view … to these things.”  She flipped me over, rolling with me to come up on top.  Selene smiled down into my face.  “As long as I get to be on top once and a while, I’m happy.”  Her face hardened.  Her smile turned lovingly cruel.  This was now the Red Lady.   She held up the red pearl necklace, letting it dangle by the chain.  “This was fashioned for you from one of my baby teeth, a fang rich in magic.  Since you insist on fighting your battles alone, my gift to you is now to withhold it.  When you want to call me, and cannot, when you are bleeding and I do not answer—remember it was your idea.”

“The pearl was never mine, or it wouldn’t be yours to take away.”

“We only ever hold what we are strong enough to take.  I learned that lesson from you.  When you are strong enough to take back this necklace and keep it, I will kneel at your feet, and worlds will tremble at our approach.” She kissed me again, lightly, tenderly. “I say okay because—on the far side of a thousand hells—you will march to my side and give me every one of my dreams.”

“A thousand hells, huh?  At least life won’t be boring.”

She laughed, pushing off me standing.  “Oh, never that.”  She became a rising cascade of red-crystal light, a shimmering fan that beamed hundreds of feet into the air, a thousand, before thinning into nothing. 

Alone, I picked myself up and headed for the limo.  The walk wasn’t far.  The driver’s door opened as I came up to it.  Osamu stepped out.  He looked me over in a calm, detached manner.  “You will be needing a new hoodie and tee shirt.  Shall I stop at a store?”

“Do you have that special outfit I need?”

“Miss Izumi finished the tailoring just recently and sent it by portal while you were gone.  You will find it in the back, with the masks.”

“Good.  One thing though, I can’t run around incognito if I use my personal limo.  You need to stash this and get us a muscle car, something capable of eluding hot pursuit.”

“I know someone who will graciously respond, no questions asked, just cash, but it will be expensive.”

I nodded, opening the back door.  “Wars always are, and there will always casualties, but I don’t want Julia to be one of them.  We’re going to shake a few trees and see if we can get a lead
on her.”

We ended up in Little Tokyo, in the downtown area.  There were a lot less people walking around at night than in the day.  Japanese writing—with English under—was printed on many of the signs over businesses and stores that looked transplanted from Japan.  Ironically the Los Angeles City Hall was here in Little Tokyo too.  Nearby, a coffee shop had young girls in anime clothing standing outside, trying to get men to come in.  The girl’s perky C-cups were doing the trick.  We cruised to an alleyway behind a Buddhist temple, to a parking garage.

Osamu turned onto a down ramp and parked the limo in front of the steel garage doors.  He stepped out to talk to a twenty-something guy packing heat in mechanic’s coveralls, like he actually worked for a living with hands that clean.  His rolled up sleeves revealed tattoos all over his arms.  Enough of his neck was visible to show that the tattoos were a lot more extensive: a sign he belonged to a Yakuza clan.  People don’t really appreciate how the city’s international airport brings foreign gangsters into the mix.  The young man banged on the garage doors, a code; they opened at once.  With Osamu back behind the wheel, we rolled forward.

We entered a fully stocked garage with multiple work bays.  The lights were bright, with additional hanging lights hooked under several raised h
oods.  Two dozen men and women worked on cars, few of them of Japanese manufacture.  Osamu parked close to the entrance, got out again, and opened the passenger door for me.  I didn’t always wait for this.  I did now.  Being waited on by a servant made me a person of power and influence.  That was exactly what I needed to project, and hell, it’s true.  If they knew anything about me—as some humans do—they’d have heard that I’m second in command of a major L.A. criminal organization.  Hopefully, few of them suspected that organization was a demon clan as well.

“This way, Caine-sama.”

We sauntered past several cars being worked on, not rice-rockets, but BMWs and Mercedes.  I looked at the modified engines open to display and knew this buying trip was going to cost more than a high-class escort that does anal.  We reached the back of the garage where finished cars waited under white sheets.  I stopped in front of a vehicle that smelled of silver, and pulled off the covering, as an older Yakuza walked up to us in a black suit with an antique gold pocket handkerchief that matched his tie.  He wore sunglass that reflected the surrounding glare.

He smiled, flashing all his teeth.  “This one, the client did not pay for, so you’re lucky day.”

The Mercedes SLK200 had been given a special paint job, an almost-black with a hint of scarlet shimmer seen as I moved, and glossy as hell.  I opened the door and first thing I noticed was the two NOS buttons on the steering wheel.

The Yakuza said, “This is the 2010 grand addition model, six-speed manual short-shift, with nanotech paint.  The color changes depending on the amount of electric charge run through it.  Sweet, huh?”  He pointed at special dash controls.  “The body can repair minor damage on its
own.  The engine is V8 supercharged, but gas mileage is okay because it’s a two-seater.”

I slid inside and adjusted the seat.  This was nice despite being strictly human-made, lacking magical modifications.  I hit the ignition button.  The engine’s rumble sounded healthy
and fine-tuned.

“This will work,” I told the Yakuza as I got out. 

A woman joined us, maybe two inches shorter than me.  She wiped her hands with a greasy red rag and flicked it into a nearby barrel.  Her legs and ass were well-defined by tight, low-riding jeans.  A four-inch gap between waistband and her pink tank-top, pulled over a sports bra, flashed a very toned stomach.  Bubblegum-pink sneakers finished the outfit off with balance.  I saw the edges of back tattoos creeping toward her sides, but her slender arms and 32C cup chest seemed free of ink.  Minor scratches and tiny burn scars showed she’d spent a lot of time under a hood, that and the confidence she exuded of someone who’d proven herself capable, who’d come out on top in a profession where men didn’t expect it. 

Osamu bowed and handed her a card.  She handed her own over, completing the little ritual.  Osamu said something in Japanese.  She smiled in response.

He turned to me.  “Caine-sama, this is Himiko.  She owns this vehicle.”

“Sama?”  Himiko made a show of looking me up and down, and not being particularly impressed.  “One-fifty large for the car,
gaijin
.”  She swung her head, swaying a long, black ponytail, her deep black eyes looking larger than they were despite the lack of eyeliner. 

It always surprised me how—to my heightened sense of smell—energetic males always smell bad, but females smell good even after a major workout.  I avoid fat because they smell like a mix of musty BO and dirty pussy.  Himiko smelled like cherries, sweet with a hint of wet pussy. 

I took a step towards her. 

The Yakuza guy slid a foot my direction, about to get in my way. 

I shot him a look I’d developed over the years for staring down werewolves. 

He stepped back. 

Himiko stood her ground, even when I met her eyes and let some of my inner dragon show.  Her young face didn’t flinch.   If anything, she was made to stare, intrigued.  I saw surprise in her eyes by her own reaction.  She frowned at me.

I said, “I don’t have time for games.”  I had exactly a hundred and fifty stashed in my car and didn’t want to hand it all over.  I reached a hand toward Osamu.  He gave me one of my cards.   “One-twenty, and you can get a pass on the
gaijin
comment, though, yes, I
am
a barbarian.”  I handed her the card, and waited.  

Osamu deals with these people, and wears a demon brand on his palm for summoning his sword.  I figured they might be at least
mildly suspicious of a preternatural community.  My guess was confirmed when her eyes reflected fear after seeing my card.  It was gray linen with a tribal style, black, triangular face, red eyes, and hair like leaping black flames.  No name.  No address.  No phone number.  You either knew what it suggested, or you didn’t.  This was my personal ID symbol in Lauphram’s demon clan. 

She was quick to hide her fear, but I smelled the aroma, like getting hit in the face with a brick. 
She nodded agreement, put my card away, and pulled out a key.  I didn’t wait for her to build courage and handed it over.  I took another step to get much closer and plucked the key from her hand.  I said, “I like your work.  Expect my return call one of these days.  Oh, and don’t mess with my limo while it’s here in storage.  Its automatic defenses are formidable.”

I handed the key to Osamu.  We walked away
, stopping just long enough to remove personal items we’d need.  In the Mercedes, Osamu drove us to an alley off of Hollywood Blvd.  I opened the package Izumi had sent.  She’d used clothing from the assassins in Fairy to create a disguise, and another of Zero-T’s earth-magic masks was inside.  Izumi had taken some silver fur and made a kind of wing attached to the new mask to hide my black hair.  The features of the mask were male but with a fey, androgynous quality.   The ears were pointed, too.  Under the head covering was a black cloak, gray leathers, a black leather belt with matching boots, and a pair of matching silver daggers. 

I got out long enough to
change into my new outfit, the black cape spilling down my back between the hilts of twin short swords I strapped on.  Before putting on the mask, I inserted an ear bud, and made sure Osamu wore one as well so he could stay in the car and play look-out.  The ceramic face went on, it warmed with life, fusing to my face, moving natural to replicate the movements of my facial muscles.  I touched my face and it felt real, like living flesh. 

Osamu nodded at me.  “You look fe
y, and dangerous, Caine-sama.”

I grinned.  “
’Dangerous’ is half my charm.  Ask anyone I’ve killed.” 

*    *    *

There were many nightclubs along this part of Hollywood Blvd.  The dirty beige stone building was my first stop for the night.  The brown brick was next.  I had a lot of them mapped out in sequence for investigation.  I’d take them one by one and hope something important shook loose.  Along the way, I had a new legend to carve out.

I left the car and strolled through the shadow while waking up my
Demon Wings tattoo. 
The magic evoked like a kick to the balls.  I staggered a step or two, but kept going, taking a side alley to the back of the building.  I knocked on the steel door.  Overhead, a neon sign consisted of four concentric circles flashing from the inner ring to the out in sequence, moving like sound waves.   Sound was the name of the club.