Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (12 page)

The dark energy of demon curses had been hammered in at its forging.  In Osamu’s hand, the sword
thrummed
softly in joyous anticipation of the kill.

The
taxrasque bounced at Osamu.

The PPK in my right hand bucked as I shot out its eyes, splattering viscous gunk.  It shrilled in fury, its wounded head ducking back inside the shell.

Osamu closed with the beast, a blur of motion, the demon sword a black, screaming wind.  Osamu ended his lunge, spinning back toward the demon.  It lay in several large chunks on the floor, each one quivering like Jell-O.  We all closed in to watch as the beast melted into green goo, raising blobby filaments that swayed like something from the bottom of the sea.  The strands snaked out and meshed with those from other chunks as the monster began to literally pull itself together.

The room lights flickered, went out, and returned as the maintenance spells set in the building engaged, dealing with the problem, whatever it was.

By this time, Old Man had returned from the basement.  He broke into the circle of spectators, peering down at the taxrasque in mild curiosity.  He shifted his eyes to me.  “Caine, this is the only time the monster can be truly destroyed.  Before it finishes solidifying, you need to burn it out of existence.”

“My dragon flame will seriously do damage to more than just the
taxrasque.”

Old Man sighed.  “Can’t be helped.”

“All right.”  My
Dragon Flame
tattoo ignited as if taxrasque venom had seeped under my skin and melted out a huge pocket of flesh.  I swallowed a scream, forcing my breath to go deep and slow.  Sensation is a ghost in the mind.  Embracing the ghost, becoming one with it, kept me functional when anyone else would have curled up in shock, waiting to die. 

The pain faded as dragon magic boosted my strength and stamina to superhuman levels, a simmering, seething tide of heat that made my whole body feel as if it were expanding under the influx of power.  My clothes burned to ashes as red-orange fire enveloped my arms, bursting from my chest to mask my face.  My palms point
ed down at the pieces of green gummy monster.

My dragon fire washed over the
taxrasque, rippling out for five feet from its pieces.  Comically, the wolves leaped back cursing, flames licking at their toes.  Osamu stood relaxed, his thrumming sword pointed into the flames, curling them back from him.

It’s good to have a demon sword
.

A circular patch of flooring burned away, showing bare concrete.  A heavy wet mist slid off the Old Man’s skin.  The cloud hugged the floor, circling my dragon flame to keep the rest of the room from catching fire.

Despite the dragon flame, the taxrasque continued to pull its chunks together.  Becoming one mass, it bubbled, a greenish smoke curling off its still sludgy shell.  The damn thing was resistant to dragon flame, healing damage almost as fast as it was made. 

Some things just don’t know when to die.

I reached deep inside, pulling out even more flame, trying to weave it tighter as it spilled from my hands.  Small jags of red-gold lighting dancing between my fingers. The fire on my chest died down and shifted from red to gold, as though my heart had become a golden star, the surrounding flesh a clear window.  The fire pouring over the taxrasque turned gold as well, kicking back more raw heat than ever.

The
taxrasque screamed as its legs and tail blackened and ashed away.  It lost shape, slumping into twisting mire that shuddered, steaming away to nothing.  Then it was gone.

Feeling quite proud of myself, I released my flame, returning my
Dragon Flame
tat to dormancy—and heard a series of pops and crunches as the floor cracked.  The large pieces grinded, sagging a few inches. 

“Ah, crap!”

The floor caved in and I fell into water.  My basement had become a swimming pool.  A
dark
swimming pool with the basements electrical system shorted out.  The maintenance spells could repair the wiring but the damage would repeat until the water was removed.  Rather than waste power, the maintenance spells for the basement just shut down.  Treading water, toes scrapping bottom, I looked up at the hole in the ceiling.  Old Man was there, staring back at me.

He said, “Good job, son.”

His face was hiding the surprise he should have felt at the sudden leveling-up of my dragon fire.  That told me he probably knew why it had happened, and wasn’t about to tell me.

“Keep your secrets, Old Man.  I’ll find them out sooner or later.”

He smiled.  “Later works for me.”

I slapped the surface of the water.  “Don’t you think this was a little excessive?”

He shifted his gaze to the ragged edge of the hole I’d made.  “Got the job done.”

Having magically
sent the demon sword back to my hidden treasure room, Osamu joined the Old Man in peering down at me.  My combat butler smiled.  “I’ll go and gather some towels.”

EIGHT

A lot of drunken women guarantees

an orgy or a cat fight, sometimes both.

                                  
         
—
Caine Deathwalker

The Old Man whipped up a water spout that spun me like a washing machine, lifting me out of the basement.  The water flung me away from the hole.  I crashed through a coffee table, onto an area rug and lay looking up at the ceiling.  I knew I’d soon have fresh bruises.  “Thanks, Old Man.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“By the way, I expect my basement to be put back the way it was.”

The Old Man adopted a puzzled tone, “You say that like I’m somehow to blame.”

Osamu strolled over and dropped some bar towels on my face.

I pulled them off, coughing.  I wasn’t the only one.  The air was foul with the stench of burnt
taxrasque.  I sat up in my soggy clothes, a puddle gathering under me, and watched the wolves pad to the windows, throwing them wide open.  Haziar was at one end of the bar, on his knees, head lax, hanging.  Kimberley was with him, also kneeling, clutching him in what might have passed as a passionate embrace, if she hadn’t been sobbing her heart out.

“What’s wrong with the fey,” I asked.  “The
taxrasque didn’t bite or sting him, right?”

Old Man turned a grave face my way.  Sadness darkened his eyes, aging his blue features.  “The
taxrasque has poison in its claw tips too.  It’s a miracle Haziar hung on this long.”

Eyes full of tears,
Kimberley looked around at all of us.  “Do something.  You can’t let him die.”   

I eased myself off the floor, standing.  “We’re not letting him die.  We just don’t have a way of keeping him alive.”

She glared at me, hating what I’d said.  “Surely, you have a healing spell, some kind of demon magic?”

Old Man loomed over her and Haziar, all his power useless.  ”
Taxrasque venom has its own magical elements.  Healing spells don’t work on this.  I’m terribly sorry.”

Haziar lifted his face, a brave smile tugging at his lips as he turned
Kimberley’s face to his.  “It’s all right.  I’d die for you a thousand times if such joy were possible.”

William was back, staring down at the fey warrior.  “You have my word; I will protect the woman until all this is over.”

I didn’t see what all the fuss was about.  Everyone dies, eventually.  I headed for the door to the living room.  “I’m going to change.”

I walked through a silent house and went into my bedroom.  Stripping off my clothes, I dropped them in my closet hamper, pulling out a new outfit to change into.  Oddly, I picked up the scent of sex with Angie from my bedding.  It was as if she were pressed right up against me.
Weird.
 

In the bathroom, I studied myself in the mirror.  My chest looked normal.  No golden glow lingered.  I touched the area over my heart.  My skin felt harder, thicker.  Not just my chest.  Everywhere I touched, my skin had grown dense.  Luckily, my fingertips retained their usual sensitivity. 

I heard the alarm clock ticking in the next room and frowned.  Another change; my hearing was sharper, matching my new heightened sense of smell.  I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath.  I identified cleaning chemicals in the cabinet under the sink.  Opening my eyes, I stared at my face in the mirror, trying to work out why these sudden changes had kicked in.