Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King (2 page)

The hostess hurried over with a fire extinguisher and sprayed Co2 on the remains.

“Quick thinking,” I told her.  “You’ve probably saved us all.  Now if you don’t mind, could I have a different table?”  Without waiting for an answer, I walked toward the restroom.  Whoever had taken Zero-T’s place had done it there.  I wanted to know if Zero-T were still alive.

I went in and found disaster.  The mirrors were webbed with cracks.  One porcelain sink was shattered.  The walls of a stall were smashed, the pieces lying on the floor.  I found Zero-T with his face in a toilet.  I pulled him back.  He fell on his back and lay still except for the shallow rise of his chest.  He was still breathing, but not conscious.  His mask was in place, but covered in hairline cracks.

If I had to guess what had happened, I’d say he came in here and was ambushed by a very strong fey that battered the demon head-first into everything he could find.  The fey probably went off thinking his killing was half done, with only me remaining.  From the foul stench others had picked up, and the speed of the combustion, I decided my would-be assassin was probably from the Autumn Court in Fairy where magic centers on corruption and decay.

I’d say the only reason Zero-T still lived was due to an instinctive response, his pouring of all his earth magic into the mask.  The mask had protected him through horrific abuse. 

I nudged him with a toe.  “Sleeping here all night?”

Nothing.

I kicked him in the ribs. 

He groaned.  His eyes flickered open, and the mask fell off his face in itty-bitty pieces, revealing reptilian scales and bright colors.  “I was attacked!”

“Really?  What was your first clue?”

He rolled over, got hands and knees under him, and levered himself to his feet.  He stood, swayed, and looked around.  “Man, I must have put up a helluva fight.”

I pointed to a window high on a far wall.  It seemed to open unto an alley.  “Go out that way.  We can’t have people seeing you like this.”

“That’s kinda high.  Want to give me a boost?”

“I don’t touch men’s asses.  Pull out a few bricks to make stepping stones.”

“But my food?”

“Not my problem.  What kind of a bodyguard gets himself beat down, leaving his employer vulnerable?  You don’t deserve bluefish sashimi and spicy rolls.”

“Ah, common, have a heart.  I took a beating for you.”

“Okay, well hit a Burger King drive through on the way home.  Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.”

“One more thing,” I told him.  “You can’t come back to this restaurant.  The fey assassin was wearing your face when I killed him.  You show up again, and they’ll call Ghost Hunters on your ass.”

“But I love this place.”

The door opened.  A male customer came in.  Stopped.  Looked around.  And quietly slipped out gain.  I pointed to the window again.  “Out.”

He went.

TWO

“There are days my shadow won’t

follow me; afraid of getting peed on.”

                                —Caine Deathwalker

I’d let the Old Man know I wouldn’t be taking on any more jobs for a while.  Loose ends had been bugging me for months; important details that needed resolving here in L.A.  Now that I was back from Santa Fe, I could give certain matters my full attention.  That’s why I’d used my magic mirror, leaving the clan house, returning to Malibu so very fucking early in the morning. 

Really, who gets up before noon?
 

Anyway, William was right next door, completely unsuspecting.  I allowed myself an evil chuckle.  Before I moved on them, I needed fortification, breakfast.  I had a new drink recipe in front of me, on the huge bar of my office.  A blender glistened, filled with half-frozen treasure.  Assorted bottles and containers stood off to the side, one of them full of ice.  I’d just finished blending orange-flavored liqueur, tequila, blood orange juice, and mint leaves.  All that was left was to pour and guzzle—then go kick ass.

A black shadow hung in the air a moment, then dropped onto the bar.  The shadow thickened, filled in, and became a black, spirit leopard.  Leona’s whiskers twitched as she smelled the slush in the blender.  She turned her bright yellow eyes my way and said, “Okay, here’s mine.  What are you going to have?”

I got out a second glass.  “You can’t have it all.”

“Spoil sport.”

I concentrated on a new trick I’d developed.  A mental link to my magical armory in the secret sub-basement activated.  A compressed ball made of thick silver coils materialized in my right hand, waiting for a spoken trigger to activate.  I’d acquired this special weapon from Lysande, a silver smith in Santa Fe who was also fey.  “It might look like a family of Slinkies that got trash-compacted,” she’d told me, “but this weapon is no toy.”  I’d pretended to agree to keep her happy, but all weapons are toys, just toys that kill.

The silver egg went into the coat pocket of my two-thousand dollar Italian suit.

Next, one of my Px4 Berettas popped out of thin air into my left hand.  I aimed between her blazing eyes.  “Don’t make me kill you deader than you already are.”

“Hah, bullets can’t hurt a ghost.”

I smiled at her ignorance.  My composite bullets are silver-crowned, blessed by a priest, and have an iron core surrounded by a layer of curupay, super-hard wood from a Brazilian tree watered with holy water.  I was tired of having to change ammo loads in my guns according to the nature of the threat.  The ammo load I now used can take out Vamp, werewolf, or fey.  The iron can disrupt materialization and the holy water and blessings can weaken a spirit, so yes, I can hurt a ghost.    But my supply was currently limited.

I willed the gun away.  It vanished. 

“What’s that egg thingy?” She asked.

“Something designed to give a werewolf a really bad time.” I poured us each a drink and picked up mine.  I offered a toast.  “To blood, gore, and horrific mutilation.”

Leona ignored my words, burying her muzzle in her glass.  Her thick tongue scooped up the mixture.  Blood was her usual diet, but she made an exception where my alcohol was concerned.

Staring across the expansive room at the island of furniture by the massive fireplace, listening to the sound of silence, I drank, savoring the rich, sweet flavor and the mellow alcohol bite that went with it.  When the blender ran dry, I put my supplies away and left the mansion. 

Stepping off the front porch, I poured raw magic into the shoulder-to-shoulder
Demon Wings
tattoo across my upper back.  Unlike all my other tattoos, this one mixed ink with demon blood, not dragon blood.  The surrounding skin warmed as the design activated, turning raw magic into an actual spell.  The world wavered like a heat mirage as I vanished to all eyes, but my own. 

It’s poor form to let an enemy see, smell, or hear you coming. 
If I do this right, I won’t have to kill half the wolves next door, many of them new to being what they are. 
William had taken in survivors of werewolf attacks after the legendary Night of the Red Moon.  I’d had no problem with that, or with letting wolves return to L.A. after their long banishment for not playing well with others.  But as William’s sponsor to the L.A. hub, it reflected badly on me that I couldn’t command his loyalty while the city had fought for its life against my step mom, the Blue Star Priestess.  I’d called on my wolves to do their part.  William had decided that with mostly newbie wolves, he needed to hide his pack at home and play it safe until the storm passed.  He’d been damn rude about it.

Now it’s my turn.

I walked across my front lawn, into the neighboring yard.  The wolves weren’t in evidence.   Having run last night with the full moon, they’d be back to human form now, tired, groggy, and still half asleep.  Well, except for that guy on the front porch wearing no shirt, reading the morning paper.  He sat in a wooden chair that leaned back, its front legs off the porch.  I didn’t know the sentry, probably one of the new wolves.  He was thin and scraggly looking with a soul patch on his chin, a little like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, except for the
bad-to-the-boner
tattoo on his chest that featured a wolf with an enormous erection. 

Probably just wishful thinking.

Cloaked by magic, I walked up the porch steps, went to the front door, and eased it open.  I went in and closed the door behind me.  I stood in a foyer, listening.  The house was quiet except for someone stirring in the kitchen.  I went in and took note of a female wolf dressed like a biker-hooker.  She was making coffee.  An iron skillet waited on the stove.  Eggs and bacon were on the counter, waiting to be cooked.  I left her too it, making my way to a hall lined with doors.  While my magic kept me from being scented, I had no trouble picking up William’s scent.  I opened his door and went in.  A second scent stopped me. 
Angie.
  She was in his bed.  Rage flushed through me.  I took a moment to get my half-dragon heart under control.  It made sense William would pick the hottest wolf to Fuck.  What didn’t make sense was why she was handcuffed with silver to the brass bars of the headboard.  His wrists were cut and bloody, the wounds looked discolored, some silver poisoning there.  Those wounds would heal until the cuffs came off, and even then would probably scar.

She was naked, bruised everywhere, especially her large, luscious tits which looked like they’d been through the wringer a time or two.  Her face was freshly bruised.  Blood on her chin came from a split lip that was still healing.  She lay on her side, legs pulled up in a half-fetal position.  There were fresh claw marks on those lovely legs.  Older wounds would have already healed to hide the evidence of assault.

Her eyes were open, dazed, and full of darkness and pain.  She was mouthed words that had been beaten into her: “Yes, yes, fuck me harder.  Harder.  Yours is the only cock I can ever love.  Put it up my ass … my ass … oh, God…  Not there!”  She choked on a sob. 

There was too much blood on the sheet under her for mere sadism.  My mind was twisted enough to understand the true significance of the blood-drenched knife on the floor.  William had used all her orifices and had then carved a few more to fuck—wounds that were gone now.  Strong wolves like Angie can take a lot of punishment and survive what would kill a human many times over. 

Angie didn’t play these kinds of games willingly.  William knew she frequently slept with me.  This was his way of showing disapproval.  My gaze slid across the bed.  William drowsed, only at the verge of sleep.  His breathing wasn’t as deep as it could be.  He rolled toward Angie, smiled, and ran a hand along her flank, past the fading bruises on her ribs.  He pulled her closer, one hand clawing a tits.  “Mine!” he murmured. 

Angie cringed, tears tracking her face.  “Please, not again!”

His grip tightened.

Her breath caught.

Drinking in her fear, he laughed and let her go.

Distracted by my own slow simmer of rage, it took me an extra moment to notice I wasn’t the only voyeur in the room.  Unaware of me, William’s granddaughter Sarah had come into the room and now moved to the bed.  She was a petite teenager with red hair that had come out of a box.  She wore sandals, jean shorts, and a turquoise top with the logo: GIRL’S ROCK.  Her face was pale with shock, her lips pressed into a hard, angry line.  I understood: in addition to basic humanity, Angie had raised Sarah like a daughter.  Seeing this had to hurt her deep.

Sarah raised a trembling gun that was close to my head, but not pointed my way—William had earned that honor.  I leaned over and sniffed the weapon.  My inner dragon opened sleepy eyes in the back of my mind.  He said:
Silver ammo.  Steal it.  Can’t have too much silver.  Can’t have too much of anything.

That goes without saying,
I answered. 

Silver.  Of course, what else would a half-fey girl use to deal with a houseful of werewolves, many of them lacking full control of their inner animals?  William had probably given her the gun himself.
  The idiot.  If he’d really wanted to keep her safe, he’d have sent her out of town, or let her stay with Gloria, her magic teacher.

I understood Sarah’s need to kill, but I was here first, and I didn’t want to William’s death to be slow and relative painless.  He deserved better.  I reached out and plucked the gun from her hand.  She jumped and looked around the room.  I moved in and touched her to bring her inside the You-Don’t-See-Me effect of my demon magic.  She tensed at my grip on her wrist, then relaxed as she saw who I was.  She opened her mouth to speak.  I kissed her to shut her up.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  She melted against me and when I let her go, her gun was in my hand.  Distraction is the cheapest magic of all.

I rolled my free hand, opened my palm, and showed her the silver egg I’d summoned from my armory.  I made a small throwing motion with it toward William, and handed the ball to Sarah.  She nodded to show she understood what I wanted.  I held up a hand to indicate she should wait a little, and moved away from her. 

I stood by Angie, near the headboard.  I covered her mouth.  This kept her quiet as my magic bypassed her, letting her see me.  Her eyes widened.  Her body stiffened.  I put a thumb over the keyhole on her cuffs and trickled a little shadow magic inside.  The shadow stiffened, taking on a key shape, and moved as I willed.  The cuff unlocked, the sound kept quiet by my
Demon Wings
magic.  I removed the cuffs and pocketed them. 

To Sarah, it would seem as if the cuffs had vanished into thin air.  She wouldn’t see me again until I touched her or dropped the spell.  I took hold of Angie’s hands, and mouthed the word: “Ready?”

She gave me the smallest of nods, her irises going from dark pools to amber coins burning softly.  Her inner wolf roused, inflamed by the looming prospect of violence.

I used strength born of my half-dragon heritage to ship Angie off the bed like she weighed no more than a pillow.

This was enough to cause William to sit up, his eyes going wolf-amber as well.  “What the fuck?”

I held Angie against me.  My magic cloaked her.  To William, it would seem as if she’d jumped off the bed and vanished down a rabbit hole.  His roving gaze found Sarah.  His expression cleared.  He offered her half a grin with just a little embarrassment attached.  Nudity was common among wolf packs, but Sarah wasn’t a wolf, and was his granddaughter.  He kept his sheet in place, staying on the bed.  Staring at her, his wolf-eyes dimmed.  She wasn’t prey.  No need to get excited.  He said, “You took my toy away.”

She didn’t contradict him.  She simply tossed the egg up into air so he could catch it.  “Here, play with this.”

I spoke the Elven release word. 

Too sleepy to recognize what it was at first, he caught the silver egg.  Feeling the burning sting of silver, he tried to fling the egg away, but the silver coils uncompressed, winding around his torso, trapping his head and arms.  Grunting like a pig, he thrashed and rolled, the wire gathering in his legs as well.  The recompressing coils changed shape, becoming less like wire and more like razor wire.  Blood was flowing and spurting all around him.  He screamed as the edges cut deep into skin and muscle.  The edges of the wounds—poisoned by silver—refused to close and heal.  The tightening coils kept him from getting a good breath, so the sweet screams quickly down.

I closed down the
Demon Wings
spell.

Sarah’s face swung my way.  She ran up to Angie and took the woman’s weight from me.  “Throw some clothes on her and take her to my house next door,” I said.  “This hit has been sanctioned by the Fenris.”  The leader of the U.S. wolves wanted the stain of cowardice brushed out of his fur.  William’s actions embarrassed him.  If I hadn’t insisted on doing this myself, the Fenris would have come and ripped William apart, eating the choice parts.  “Tell the other wolves that if they come in here, they will no longer be pack.  And no other pack will take them in.  Plus, I’ll probably burn their asses with dragon fire.”