Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper (3 page)

“Santa Fe, that’s the desert, right?  Sorry, not interested.  Getting involved with ghosts has never worked out particularly well for me.”

“You’re a ghost whisperer, right?”

“More like ghost puncher,” she said.  “I’m more hands-on when it comes to problems.”

“Did I mention there’s ten-thousand dollars in it for you?  And all the Rice Chex trail mix your monster can eat.” 
I, of course, am getting a helluva lot more cash.

“Tukka?”  Grace looked surprised.  “Where is he?”

Hearing the sound of broken glass, we ran back to the hallway.  A vending machine had accidentally fallen over.  The glass face had been kicked in, and half the snacks were gone.  Tukka sprawled on the floor as if bludgeoned into submission.  He groaned loudly as we dropped beside him.  He tossed his head, indicating down the hall. 
Hurry, thief get away.  Stop … him… 
Tukka dropped his head to the carpet, having done his best to alert us to the escaping snack thief.

Grace glared at him.  “We know it was you, Tukka.  There are crumbs on your face, and other stuff poking out from underneath you.”

Tukka released a piteous moan.

I summoned my demon sword.  It materialized in hand.  I raised the blade above my head, poised to bring the edge crashing down so the demon blade could drink his soul.  The blade shimmered with red energy, its hunger roaring through me like wild fire.

Tukka’s eyes shot wide open. 
What are you doing!

I smiled.  “Why, I’m putting a wounded animal out of his misery.  No need to thank me.”

Grace arched an eyebrow as she studied the red haze of light around my blade.  “Don’t tease the animal.  That’s my job.”

Tukka opened his mouth and roared.  An explosion of sonic energy slammed us away.  I lost focus and my sword magically returned to my armory back in Malibu.  I covered my ears as I stumbled back.  Through the sonic hash, I couldn’t hear the hall windows shattering, but I saw the glittery shards in the air. 

Holding her ears, Grace screamed in pain. 

The howl of doom stopped at once. 

“What the fuck?” I said.  “Infra- and sub-sonic, too?”

“It’s their primary weapon against dragons.”  Grace kicked the beast in his side as he scrambled up.

I don’t think Tukka noticed the attempt at abuse. 

She said, “Manners, Tukka.  You’re supposed to say ‘Excuse me’ when you belch.”

THREE

“Crazy is a stalking bitch reminding you you’re alive—for now.”

                               —Cain Deathwalker

Grace slanted me a look.  “So, Caine, what happened to that flaming sword of yours?  And where can I get one?”

“It’s a demon sword, with murder on its mind, that comes when I call, and it’s not for you.” 

Cassie would rip out my liver and eat it raw if I put such a thing in Grace’s hands.  Her mom was a consultant to the Preternatural Response Taskforce, part of a team—one of many—that rode circuits across the United States doing battle with darkness. If the PRT didn’t sometimes kill the good preternaturals along with the bad, they’d get more support from things that go bump in the night. The ironic thing about Cassie taking cash to quietly put down threats to humans lay in the fact that she was just such a threat herself.  Besides having federal authority, the best military weapons, and access to mega-top-secret databanks, she was over five-hundred years old, a kitsune steeped in high-level magic, and crazier than Hannibal Lector on a bean-dip diet.

Whatever I do with Grace, Cassie must never find out.

We stood at the front desk of the gym.  I counted a large stack of hundreds to cover the damage Tukka had left.  With each bill laid out, the manager became a little less irate, though his eyes all but called us crazy as he listened in on our conversation.   That was natural; without Tukka in sight, there was nothing tremendously preternatural about us.  Grace—with her antennae and baby wings—was just another
cosplayer
who’d watched too much anime. 

Grace said, “Did you take it off a demon?  That would be scary.  I hate dealing with them.  They can be a real pain in the posterior region.”

Little does she know, I’m heir to a demon clan
.  I shot her an
oh-come-on
look.  “You can say ‘ass.’  I won’t be shocked.”

She smiled.  “I wasn’t sure I should take that chance.”

“We’ve only met twice.  There’s a lot about me you don’t know.  A lot I’m not going to tell you.  You’re the one who is going to be shocked, occasionally appalled, and most likely enraged beyond belief before all this is done.”  I felt the need to prepare her for working with me. That way, later, she couldn’t say I hadn’t given her fair warning.  “I’m a no-holds-barred, fornicating asshole with convictions of grandeur, if not godhood, and I function best in an alcoholic haze—but while you’re working for me, you’re mine, and I protect what is mine.”

The manager muttered, “Yeah, you protected the hell out of my vending machines and windows.”

I glared at the manager and considered pistol whipping him, on general principle, but turned from the desk and headed for the double doors.  The look I gave him did enough.  His eyes had widened and sweat had dripped down his face as he took a step back.  That happens when you see below my surface to the waiting abyss.

Grace widened her stride to catch up.  “I can watch out for
me
just fine.  I get
way
too much protection as it is.  Mom’s bad enough.  Dad’s even worse.”

I couldn’t find anything on him.
I hoped Grace felt talkative;
information is power. 
“Your Dad…?” 

She shrugged as I opened the door for her.  “Dad’s pure trouble.  Thinks he’s entitled to make decisions for everybody in the known and unknown universe.  Mom hid my birth from him for years, trying to keep me safe and give me a choice of futures.  Dad’s a real tyrant.  He needs firm handling, Fenn, too.”

Fenn, that name’s familiar. Ah, yes, I remember…
“He’s the feral human at that think-tank you once went to.  Raised by wolves, or something.”  We crossed the parking lot toward the second line of cars.  Twilight lay over the area, thinned by the streetlights coming on.  Several of the restaurants that were accessed by this parking lot were doing good business.  Two caught my eye: one a steakhouse, the other a Chinese place.  I personally preferred sushi. 

Coming up on my vehicle, I smiled fondly at the new Shelby GT500 Mustang.  In place of racing stripes, the custom paintjob was a deep, glossy black with gold jags of lightning along the sides.

Grace said, “Fenn’s broody, but not wild.  His mom raised him human, and raised him properly.  Most of his issues come from the fact that his dad is the Trickster.”

I stopped cold, feeling a dark, murderous aura reaching out to engulf me.
Fuck!  Has saying the Trickster’s name drawn his ill will?  There are a lot of other avatars I prefer running into tonight. 

Grace went on a few steps and turned back.  “Something wrong?”

I looked past her at a woman stepping out from behind a red van.  It was Cassie, and she didn’t look happy seeing me anywhere near her daughter. 
Ah, that’s who I sensed.
  I smiled, and started forward.  “Cassie!  How nice to see you again.” 
But especially your tits.

Fire spilled from her hand but didn’t hit the blacktop.  It solidified—mostly—into a blade of dancing flames. 

Oh, crap!

“What are you doing with my daughter?” Cassie’s tone was deceptively mild with only a hint of intrigue.  The gold glow in her eyes said I better have a helluva good answer, or this was going to get fun really quick.

Well, I do need to fill Grace in.  I might as well do that with Cassie listening.

“Lately, I’ve been haunted by a little girl’s ghost.  She wants her mother and won’t cross over until I reunite them.  I thought Grace might want to help—in exchange for a healthy contribution to her college fund.”  It was true, as far as it went.  Cassie didn’t need to know that I had a second client and a blank check in my pocket.  I try not to burden people with things they

don’t really need to know, just thoughtful that way.

Cassie’s eyes narrowed.  “And you didn’t think to run this by me first?”

I shrugged.  “Why take a chance you’d say no?  And isn’t it her decision anyway?”

Grace crossed her arms over her—regrettably—flat chest and stared at her mother.  “Yeah, isn’t it?”

Cassie met the stare.  “Grace, taking on a mission isn’t about having fun and goofing off from school.  Even simple jobs can go bad fast, becoming more than dangerous.  And you’re taking responsibility for a partner.  Do you know what it means to be a shield for another person when things go to hell?”

Grace’s voice climbed to lofty, sulky, heights.  “I’m not without experience.  You name it, I’ve fought it.  Well, no werewolves yet, but one of these days, the way my luck runs.”

Without tension, or any betraying signal, Cassie lunged across the blacktop, her unnatural sword of foxfire rippling orange and gold as the point came straight at my heart.

I called my demon sword back from my armory in Malibu, letting the hilt fill my palm, the shock of its hunger screaming through my mind:
Feed me! 
I swung the blade from the side, hanging it before me, but I needn’t have bothered.  Grace leaped in front of my blade.  I actually had to rein it in so the stupid thing didn’t plunge itself into her exposed back.  Black shadow grew out of Grace’s right hand and formed a sword as well, wreathed with foxfire.  I supposed her swords fire came from her kitsune blood.  The obsidian shadow at its core however told me quite a lot about her father: either dark fey, or someone who’d studied shadow magic—like me.

Grace’s sword and Cassie’s were locked in a test of strength.  After a moment, Cassie stepped back with a smile.  Her sword fluttered down to nothing, vanishing.  “Well done.  I’d expect nothing less of my daughter.”

Grace didn’t dismiss her sword so quickly.  Her voice sounded suspicious, “You mean I can go?”

“You’re taking Tukka?” Cassie asked.

“Yeah, of course.”

“It’s fine with me if you want to help out this ghost child, but I want you to take along a chaperone.  Tukka can get easily distracted.”

Grace sputtered, “B-but, why—?   Don’t you trust me?”

Cassie glared at me—for some reason—then her gaze went back to Grace.  “This creature, Caine Deathwalker, has an atrocious reputation as a man-whore.”

“Man-whore?”  I widened my eyes in mock-indignation, pretending to blink back tears.  I sent my voice into a shrill, annoying climb.  “I resent that remark.  I thought we were friends, Cassie.  That tears it!  I may never forgive you.”  That last line would have been far more convincing if I’d suppressed the snicker that slipped out. 

Cassie scowled at me, adding, “Oh, shutup, will you?”

My sword spoke into my mind:
C’mon, aren’t we going to kill that bitch?  You know you want to—she’s hot as hell.  You can fuck her before the body cools.  You know you want to.

This was weird.  My sword was trying to bribe me so I’d let it eat Cassie’s soul.

Maybe later
, I said. 
When Grace isn’t around to see.  I need her functional assistance.

My sword sighed. 
Sonnuvabitch!  This just ain’t right.

Grace let her shadow-fire sword break apart, leaving her hand empty.  She rounded on me like she suspected I was really wanting to dead-fuck her mom.  Grace blinked her anime-big eyes at me, shadows stirring in their cores.  “Your last name is Deathwalker?”

I furrowed my brow and stuck my manly chin out a little more.  “Yeah.  I never knew my biological father, or his real name, so I made one up that I thought rather descriptive.  Something wrong with that?”

Sadness bloomed in her gaze.  “No, it’s fine, really.  Don’t change it.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I gritted.

Grace nodded emphatically.  “’Cause there’s no need.  It’s a fine name.”

Okay, I made up my mind; first unlucky bastard crossing my

path tonight dies—slow.

My sword brightened up, a flare of pleasure dancing along my nerves. 
Really?  That’s fine then.  I can do slow.  Just sip at a soul, make it last.  I know I can!

I knew better. 
Yeah, that’s going to happen.
  I flipped my wrist and willed my sword away.

Aaaagh!  Not againnnnnn…
  Its frustrated voice faded from my head as it went. 

Grace turned back to her mom.  “I get to pick the tag-along.”

“Who?” Cassie asked.

“Unless it’s a hot chick,” I said, “I’m not paying their way.”

“Madison,” Grace said.

Cassie nodded and smiled, happy with the choice.  “Madison.  Perfect.  She’s a very responsible young woman.  You guys get some dinner, and I’ll go pick her up.” Cassie sashayed back to the red van.  I kept my eyes on her ass until she climbed in.   The engine revved to life and the vehicle pulled away with a squeal of tires.

As Grace turned to me, I asked, “What’s a Madison?”

“A friend from school.  She’s my age, and ‘
hot blonde’
doesn’t begin to do her justice.”

“Hmmmm.”  My day was looking up.  Or was it?  “Wait a minute.  She goes to your school?  That means she’s a—”

Grace smiled.  “Slayer in training.  She wields a mean battle axe.”

I smiled back.  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a vampire, then.  I like my head where it is.”  I looked over the restaurant choices.  “Let’s hit the
stake
-house, in honor of your friend.”

Missing my pun, Grace said, “We’ll need a doggy bag for Tukka when we’re done.”

“What you buy for him is your business. There’s no way I’m going to keep that monster in food.  I want to make a profit from this job.”

Grace pouted.

I gave her a cold, hard stare.  “That may work on Fenn or Shaun, but I’m immune.”

“Do you happen to have some magic that will keep a fu dog out of your dreams so he doesn’t eat them inside out?”

  “He’d better not mess with me, or I’ll be responsible for his sudden demise.”

Grace turned solemn, holding in a smile that twitched the corners of her lips. “Yes, Mr. Deathwalker.  I’ll see that he knows.”

I motioned to the car.  “Get in.  I’ll drive us across the parking lot.”

“You know, Mr. Deathwalker, there’s a hint of red glowing in one eye, and yellow in the other when you get mad.”

We settled in the car and buckled up, slamming the doors shut.  I looked Grace in the eyes.  “Oh, I’m not mad.  You’ll know when it happens by all the bodies on the ground.”

Playfully, she punched me in the shoulder.  “Yeah, right.”

I turned on the headlights and started the car moving.  Grace thought I was joking. 
That’s fine.  She’ll learn soon enough.  I have to go easy on her for now, but once we hit Santa Fe—there will be enough blood spilled to drown a herd of fu dogs.  I’m so looking forward to it.

A minute later, we parked near Ol’ Tex’s Steak Emporium.  The sign on the window had an old cow-poke riding a wild-eyed bull.  Having lassoed its horns, he hung on for dear life.  It was the kind of place that would have wagon wheel chandeliers and walls decorated with wanted posters and branding irons.  We bailed from the car.  I locked up with a remote control, and Grace took my arm so I could escort her to the front doors.