Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (11 page)

SEVEN

Never trust anything that bleeds

for five days and doesn’t die.

                                               
—
Caine Deathwalker

The flash grenades detonated; low level concussions and blinding bursts.  My protective shield flared, filtering the effect as I lunged to the side—eyes squeezed shut, head reflexively turned away.  I drew both PPKs.  Somewhere behind me, the Fenris was out of my line of fire so cutting loose wasn’t a problem.  My guns bucked in my hand, spewing death.  I fanned the shots, hearing them tear hell out of my workstation.  That grieved me, but things could be replaced easier than my life.  I didn’t have a tattoo for that.

Note to self: See if Red Fang can whip up a bounce-back-from-the-dead spell.

Yelling to be heard over the gunfire, Achill clamped a hand on my left wrist, “He’s gone, Caine.  You can stop now.”

Running out of rounds, I did stop.  “How can you tell?”  My eyes were open, blinking, spots of color obscuring fine detail as I peered across the armory.  His eyes were even more sensitive.  He shouldn’t have been able to see any better than me.

He released my arm.  “Air’s gone clean.  He’s dropped down whatever rabbit hole he came in through.”

“Damn fey magic.  I hate it when they do that.”  I reloaded my weapon with clips from the armory, then whipped out my phone and speed-dialed the Old Man.  “I need you down here, fast.”

He popped in next to me, making a small gust of displaced air, and laid a hand on my shoulder.  “You called?”

I waved at the armory.  “Intruder, Autumn fey.”

He pulled away from me.  “Through my mystic barriers?  Don’t be … son of a beast!  There’s a tunnel here.”

“Told you,” I said.

“Just a suggestion,” Achill said, “but if I were a water mage, I might conjure up a small flood and drown the rat in his own burrow.”

My eyes were recovering, but the blurry mist lingered, becoming pearlescent white with a hint of blue.  Smelling moisture in the air, I knew there really
was
a rolling mist in the basement.  Pale clouds formed and took on a bruised look, bluish purple strobing with little electrical flashes inside.  I backed toward the elevator.  Achill kept pace.  I slammed the call button.  The elevator door opened.  Stepping in with Achill, I called back to the Old Man, “We’ll leave this to you.”

“Try not to break
California off from the mainland,” Achill yelled.

I thought of Atlantis, Old Man’s hometown, and shuddered slightly.

He muttered to himself, but his booming tones easily carried.  “Destroy one ancient civilization and you never hear the end of it.”

The clouds around Old Man dumped torrents of water.  A roaring wind funneled the deluge into the tunnel.  The closing door cut off our view. 
Achill and I were lifted to the first floor, making the trip in nervous silence.  We emerged behind the bar.  William was sitting over by the fireplace, nursing a draft beer.

“I’ll put that on your tab,” I said.

He took a gulp, shooting me the finger. 

Freeloading
ass.

Achill
went around the bar and crossed the room to join him, taking one of the red leather wingback chairs.  I fixed a fruit punch and rum—no umbrella—and took my first sip as the door opened and Kimberley swept in wearing a lime green sundress and matching sneakers.  Still in reaper black, Haziar faithfully dogged her steps, his grim, dark eyes stabbing in all directions, hunting for danger.  He kept one hand on his sheathed sword.

Kimberley
stopped between two barstools, peering at me across the bar.  Her purple eyes were clouded with concern.  “Mister Deathwalker, when do you plan on starting this job?”

“If the werekitties turn up soon, I’ll probably hit the road in the morning.”

“You’re taking werecats to Sacramento?” she asked.

I nodded, setting my glass down.  “They’ll get me into the cat community to see the wereliger.  He’s a big piece of the puzzle that has to come together up there.”

“You should be on the phone, calling around for them, not guzzling liquor,” Haziar said. 

I felt an immediate urge to rip his head off and play soccer with it.  “The only thing I
ever
do efficiently is kill.”  Before I could demonstrate, a window at the far end of the room exploded inward.  Something toddler sized, bristling with segmented legs, hurtled into the room.  Shell-backed, jade green, it bounded off the floor like a ginormous superball, and came spinning at the bar.

Kimberley
looked startled.  This thing had slipped in under her psychic radar; so much for her second sight.  She put a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream.

Haziar’s sword scraped free of its scabbard.
  He leaped to meet the pint-sized monster.  It grounded itself, clawed at the floor for traction, and wobbled inside his guard, avoiding the blade.  The demon creature popped up and mashed itself against his torso.

“What the fuck is that?” I lunged across the bar, slid off to the other side, and put the envoy behind me.

By this time, William and Achill had slammed out of their chairs, leaping toward the action.  I had my PPKs out, waiting for an opening.  A cloying brimstone stench told me this beast was fresh from some far away hell-dimension.  Haziar whirled, one hand prying at his attacker, his other hand using his sword to hack.  A segmented length dropped from inside the shell, arcing back up to hang behind the demon like a scorpion tail.  Instead of a stinging barb, the tail ended with a curve-bladed dagger made of chitin.
 

William snagged the tail with his claws, and kept it from stabbing Haziar’s face. 
Achill seized two of the creature’s legs, trying to disengage them.  Already, the fey guard’s shirt was in tatters with bloody scrapes across his upper torso.

“It’s a
taxrasque,” Achill said.

I vaguely remembered Red Fang once talking about these things.  “Aren’t they supposed to be bigger than that?”

“It’s young, lost, and hungry.”  Kimberley sounded breathless and scared, but was trying to help out with what little she knew.  Her eyes were wide, peering into some alien dimension.

“I see a world of eternal night, where black waves wash tourmaline shores.” 

It gave up on Haziar, jumping on William’s face.  He managed a muffled “Fuck!”  His supernatural strength allowed him to pry partially free.  The demon’s tail whipped up, hunting an opening at William’s face.

Waving
Achill back with one gun, I used the other PPK, firing at the base of the tail where it emerged from the shell.  I figured any shots getting through or past the tail would hit the shell and be deflected safely away from William, not that I cared if he caught a slug or two.

The shock of bullets loosened the
taxrasque enough for William to toss it aside.  The baby demon hit on its back, flipped over, and skidded to a stop.  A bulbous head poked out of its shell opposite the tail which was dripping a straw-colored poison.  Its leaf green eyes blazed.  It opened a beaked mouth with serrated edges, hissing like a Texas cockroach, waving its stubby green tongue.

The
taxrasque had two wolves and a very pissed off fey circling it warily.  I don’t think it knew who to go for first.  The way it had changed partners, going for William, giving up Haziar, made me think it was undirected, no more than a diversion.  I think the plan had been for it to keep us all busy up here while the Autumn Court fey broke into my nerve-center in the basement.  His plan would have worked if he’d sent the taxrasque in just a little sooner.

“Hey, William,” I called, “why don’t you hump it to death?”

“More your type than mine.”  His face had furred over, growing wolfen.  His bared teeth were white and fanged.  His shirt tore at the seams as he hunched, his posture going more bestial.   He snarled, eyes flashing yellow.

About then, I noticed Osamu had joined the party, coming up on my right.  He was unarmed, the calm at the center of a storm.  He loosened his tie and shot me a glance.  “When one has a combat butler, one is supposed to summon him for situations such as this.”

I shrugged off his words, but he had a point.  The man had a job description to live up to.

The
taxrasque scurried at Haziar, but changed course at the last moment as the bodyguard’s sword flashed down, just missing.  The taxrasque sprang up at Achill. 

The Fenris kicked it toward William like a giant football. 

William ducked under, but the tail flailed under its body this time, furrowing the Alpha’s back.  William shivered and howled.  He tried to get up, but collapsed to his knees.

Osamu assumed a combat stance with knees bent, body poised to move explosively in a relaxed burst of power.  He stretched out his hand, as the little monster oriented on him, hissing once more.  The corner of Osamu’s jaw knotted.  He closed his hand, but not on emptiness.  Thanks to the brand seared into his right palm, the demon sword bonded to him materialized, answering his silent call.  Garnets winked like dull red stars in the circular webbing of the hand guard.  A yellow tiger’s eye glowered from the pommel.  It was long for a katana, glossy black with graphite ripples along its edge.