Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (47 page)

She killed the connection, put her phone away, and said, “Manipulative prick.”

Kimberley nodded in commiseration.  “Yeah, my boss can be that way too.”

I mentally filed away her reference to the leader of the
Dream Court fey, and got behind the wheel of my new Mustang.  Kimberley wandered back to the VW.  I’d have to get a backseat for the Mustang before more than one person rode with me, comfortably that is.

Vivian slid off the hood, and came around to the passenger’s side.  Opening the car door, she slid in next to me and rattled off an address.  The door slammed shut.  The handle to the door
’s window fell into the floorboard.

Gonna have to fix that.

And we were off, the VW chattering along in our wake.

*   *   *

The warm glow above the expired sun was gone.  The sky was blue on blue, dark on light.  A few pin-pricks of silver were out, the first stars of the night.  We found parking right outside the nightclub.  The building was painted a dark red, like shadowed blood.  The roof was covered in Mexican clay tile, also red.  A big, serpent-limbed oak stood beside the structure.  Over the entrance was a flame-shaped sign, more red.  Pink neon letters glowed, spelling out: CLUB INFERNO.  On the sign above the name was a slanted bottle spilling out flames that shaped an arrow, pointing at the front door—an invitation to hell.

My kind of place.

We gathered on the sidewalk, locking up the vehicles.  I spotted a street person in a ratty coat and dirty jeans.  He sat with his back against the building.  A shopping cart was near him.  It contained several stuffed trash bags.  I said, “Wait here,” and went over to him. 

He looked up at me with little interest.

I flashed a ten and held it out.

He grabbed it quickly.

I pointed at our vehicles.  “Keep an eye on our rides.  I don’t want anyone messing with them.  If I’m happy when I come out, I’ll have more cash for you.”

His large lips pressed together with purpose.  A look of steely determination flared in his eyes.  “I’m on it, man.  Your rides will be fine.”

“I hope so.”  I smiled and walked back to my friends.

Vivian said, “You actually gave money to help someone.  Has hell frozen over?”

I took her arm and steered her toward the club entrance.  “Let’s go in and find out.”

Inside, the floor was black.  The bar was red as was the red carpeted stage, currently empty of performers.  Red tables and chairs surrounded a dance floor.  It was empty too.  The club was open, but the crowds had yet to arrive.  A place like this wasn’t going to start jumping for a few more hours.  My friends went and staked out a table near the stage.  I went to the bar, nodding to the blonde, frizzy-haired bartender casually clad in faded jeans and a pink tee.  She smiled warmly.  “What can I get you?”

I made an automatic evaluation: bust size 34C, and smiled back.  A pitcher of margaritas for my friends, and I’ll have an Inferno.  Make it a double.”

“It’s your stomach,” she said.

I watched her mix sugar syrup with gold absinthe in a glass with crushed ice.  She dropped in a wedge of lime, and garnished the top with a couple of mint leaves.  She slid it to me on a napkin.  I took the drink and laid a fifty down.  “Run a tab,” I said, “and let me know when you need more.”

Her smile got bigger.  “Sure thing, sugar.  I’ll have the rest of your drinks right out.”

I nodded, drifted to our table, and settled in a seat.  Throwing my drink back, I let it burn pleasantly down my throat, emptying the glass.  Chewing ice, I listened to Kat and Vivian carry on about baby booties, the blues band that was supposed to play here at 9:00, and the difficulty of finding a good bra.  Kat mentioned the house with the tunnel entrance in the basement, bringing Josh up to speed.  “With financing, we ought to be able to afford it, don’t you think?”

Josh stared at her.  “We don’t need financing.  It’s for the clan.  Everybody can kick a little into the pot.  Some of your toms need to move out from their mom and dad’s anyway.”

“People are hurting from the economy.”

“Hurting from the “Frankenstein monster” of a liberal president running amok,” I said.

Kat glowered at me.

I lifted eyebrows.  “Did I say that out loud?”

“I voted for that monster,” Kat said.  “Twice.”

I sighed and laid a sympathetic hand on Josh forearm.  “I hope there are compensations.”

Josh shot me that cat-eating-the-canary look that means the sex is really good.  “She’s incredibly limber.”

Kat shifted her blazing glance to him

He shrugged.  “Well, you are.”

Shifting topic, Kimberly said, “Let me know when it comes time for the baby shower.  I’ll make a point of coming to town for it.”

Stepping out of the gloom, as if just becoming real, Roma appeared behind Vivian’s chair.  His hands settled on her shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze.  “Hello, my dear.  You shall want for nothing.  My grandson will have the best.”

Vivian had drawn her silver dagger at the vampire’s first touch.  Reluctantly, she returned the weapon to her thigh sheath.

No one was stupid.  No one said anything to disillusion Roma about Vivian’s alleged pregnancy.  Josh got up and dragged over a couple chairs.  He locked eyes with the vampire, protected by the cat magic of his clan.  “Why don’t you and Brielle have a seat?”

“Brielle?” he played dumb.

“Just because I can’t see her, doesn’t mean I can’t smell her.  Besides, given that she’s got the dream stone, I can’t imagine you’d let her get too far from you.”

The dhampyr faded in,
dark eyes brightening to a muddy pink.  “Let me?  I am no one’s chattel.  We are partners...” she took Roma’s arm, leaning into his side, “and perhaps a little more.”

“When’s the wedding?” I asked.

Roma gave me a blistery cold look.  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

I eyed Brielle.  I didn’t see the stone on her, but that didn’t mean anything.  Matter of fact, I was getting a good idea of how she used it now.  The Brielle we were all seeing was probably not the real one, just a walking dream whipped up by the stone.  The real Brielle was probably standing back behind Roma somewhere, getting off on fooling us all.

As I saw things, my mission here was simple, just not easy.  I had to distract Roma, find a dhampyr bitch inside a dream of emptiness, and get my hands on the stone so it couldn’t be used it against me.

“Well,” Roma said.

I smiled blandly, not looking him in the eyes.  “Oh, I assumed that was a rhetorical question.”

  “No,” he said.  “You should answer as if your life depends on it.  It just might.”

Vivian pulled out her knife and stabbed the table top with a
thunk!
She glared at her father.
“No killing, unless I do it.”

“Don’t upset yourself,” Roma urged.  “It can’t be good for the baby.  So, how far along are you?  When is the happy day?”

The bartender approached, carrying a loaded tray.  Just before she got to the table, she jostled on nothing, stumbling.  I sprang and caught her, steadying the tray.  “You alright?”

“Yeah, I must be working too hard.  I could swear I … never mind.  Here are your Margaritas.” 

I pulled back and let her reach the table with the drinks.

The moment that she was between me and the dreamed up version of Brielle, I pounced.  Not at the dream, but at the spot where the bartender had stumbled.  My hands settled over unseen fingers that gripped the dream stone.  Both the real Brielle and I were touching the fey relic, feeling its power like an electrical charge.  I drew on that power, trying to bend it to my will, trying to shake Brielle loose.  Reality twisted, and we went somewhere else.

THIRTY-FOUR

“Insanity never throws me

off—it’s my natural state.”

                          
                  —Caine Deathwalker

It seemed like I’d just stepped into one of my own hyper-real dreams.  In a way I had, but this wasn’t my dream.  Brielle had shaped this bubble universe, giving it life through the dream stone.  Our hands and wills were locked in death-grips on the stone, each of us trying to command its energies.  The stone felt like the size of a grapefruit, its exact appearance lost in the soft blue-green fog of its radiant power.  Beams of soft light ghosted past our fingers, painting our flesh the same pastel color as the Spring Court fey.