Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper Page 14

  A deep, fluttering blackness with hell-red eyes Onyx, loomed over the thug. Fluidly, the shadow man wrapped himself many times around the feasting vamp. He and his dinner vanished in a churning, lightless vortex.

  Grace walked up to the vortex and shoved her sword in and moved it high and low. She stepped back and let her sword collapse into nothingness.

  Onyx stepped away to join her, taking human form again.

  What was left on the ground was a lot of half raw, slices of bloody flesh.

  We all turned our attention to Pink-Boots.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, you’re busy. I get that. What message do you want me to take back for you so this doesn’t happen again?”

  I grinned at him. “You know, I ought to kill you just for wearing those boots.”

  “But I think they’re cute,” Grace said.

  I slanted her a glance. “Proves my point.”

  SIXTEEN

  “With or without fangs, a bitch is a bitch.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  I’d parked in a section town that looked like it had been transplanted from Moscow. There was a book store, art gallery, deli, and cafe here, all of them Russian, possibly with ties to the Russian mob, certainly with ties to the vamps. The gallery had a light crowd visible through the front windows, a party. Visitors were well dressed and loaded down with canapés and Champagne. Shelves in the window displayed a few religious icons, stacking Russian dolls, and a life-sized, carved swan with wings sweeping forward as if to lift itself into the air and fly for its life.

  Onyx and I had driven here in Pink-Boots’ dark red Caddy as he gave directions. The black Nova had been left behind with the kid’s body. So the rest of my troops could follow us over, I’d entrusted Madison with my Mustang, giving her a promise: “Put one scratch on her, and you’ll die, slow.” She must have believed me—or the glow in my eyes reflecting in her’s—because they arrived without damage.

  On the sidewalk, by the vehicles, Madison, Grace, and Onyx formed a crescent facing me and Pink-Boots. I was getting verbal static as usual. Manfully, I resisted the impulse to stab someone in the eye.

  Grace whined. “I can be backup, too. Why does Onyx get to have all the fun? It’s because I’m a girl, right?”

  “I don’t care what happens to Onyx,” I explained.

  He said. “Thanks.”

  I continued, “Grace, I can’t put you at risk. Your mother

  would sic her Preternatural Response Team on me. I don’t need federal heat.”

  Madison said, “Then tell me why I can’t go in.”

  “It’s just one of my rules,” I said. “I don’t allow hot chicks to die before they get to sleep with me. It wouldn’t be fair if they missed out. And as a general rule, I don’t do corpses.” Though there was that zombie pole dancer in Seattle… They shouldn’t keep those places so dark. I shook off the memory. “Besides, there should always be a contingency plan, Grace. You’re it.” I handed her one of my business cards. On the back, I’d written Dracula’s phone number. He’d be in town by now, at the most expensive hotel probably. I gave Grace an imperious stare. “If we don’t get back in the next hour, call this number and tell the client the shit’s hit the fan and he needs to make himself useful.”

  Madison took the card. “Who is this client anyway?”

  I let go of Grace, shifting my stare to Madison. I smiled so she’d think I was joking. “Vlad, the Impaler? Got a problem with that?”

  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. You don’t have to lie so outrageously.”

  A choking sound escaped Pink-Boots. As a vampire, he could hear my heartbeat. He knew I was telling the truth. “Virgin’s blood! He’s real?”

  “You don’t want to find out. Let’s hope your Mistress has enough sense not to escalate matters.” I put icy death in my eyes as I turned to the vamp. “One more thing you should know, however bad you may think anyone else is, I’m worse.”

  He bristled. “We’ve dealt with demons before. There’s a small clan here in Santa Fe.”

  I smiled, reverting to the camouflage of charm. “Some time when you’re out drinking with them, ask them about the Red Moon Demon.” I gave him a push. “Now take us to your leader.”

  Onyx fell in with me as we followed Pink. I wasn’t really surprised when we headed for the party in the art gallery. Vamps are posers to the core, always playing more Goth than thou, the bigger the audience the better. My first instinct was to go in, guns blazing, dragon magic scorching the air. These guys knew one of the sites we needed to be able to investigate without hindrance. They could complicate things. The kid’s body back at the Nova was going to stress out the conservatory as it was. If I could buy time and wrap things up quickly, that would make things easier on me. Otherwise, I might have a war on my hands. The rest of the Santa Fe preternatural might be grateful to see the vamps wiped out, but they’d be pissed at me, thinking my demon clan was moving in to take over everybody’s territory. The Old Man was right; diplomacy didn’t always need to come from the barrel of a gun, fun as that is.

  Still, if one person makes a crack about how they thought I’d be taller…

  We went in through the front door and Pink was stopped by a vamp in a dark suit with an open-collared, lavender shirt. The new vamp was at least half Native American, with black hair and eyes, and prominent cheekbones. He stood six foot four, but without the over-muscled look of the goons we’d killed earlier. He wore a silver ring with a rounded square face, a mosaic of ice blue and medium blue turquoise forming a thunderbird design.

  Heap strong medicine. Maybe. I wondered if he was a shaman.

  He blocked our path, addressing himself to Pink. “This isn’t where you were told to bring them. And where’s Ripper and Nightshade?”

  “They found a cure for vampirism,” I said. “They’re dead, again.”

  Pink said, “I didn’t bring them, Chief. They brought me.”

  Chief’s nostrils flared as he looked Onyx and me over. Our scent made him frown. His eyes bored into me. “You’re human, but something else I’m not familiar with.” His stare slid over to Onyx. The frown deepened. “You don’t even have a scent. It’s like you’re not really here.”

  “I get that a lot,” Onyx said.

  Chief’s gaze went back to Pink-Boots. “What are they?”

  “Is this the place you want to go into that?” I asked. “A lot of humans in this crowd, a lot of ears. Maybe we could take

  things to a back room or something.”

  Chief shifted into a quarter turn with the efficient smoothness of a martial artist. He looked across the crowd and caught the eyes of two men chatting up an elderly matron wearing diamonds, high class stones I wouldn’t mind stealing. The men had “blood-sucking fiends” written all over them.

  At the signal, they excused themselves and started over.

  They were joined in route by a hot blonde slinking along in a silver dress. Even her nail polish was metallic silver. She reminded me of a wiggly fishing lure. Her features were sharp, hungry. Her stare went to my throat; I was being considered for dinner. Considering my own dinner and her rudeness, I retaliated by staring at her vagina as she came up to us. After that, I returned my attention to Chief, who seemed to be calling the shots at the moment.

  He said, “We will escort through the crowd, and I promise you,” his stare went to Pink-Boots, “all of you, that anything but your best behavior will bring crushing retribution.”

  About to say something outrageously offensive and funny, I smiled.

  Onyx touched my arm, interrupting the moment.

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  He said, “You get to make all the cool, smart-ass answers. It’s not fair. I want a turn.”

  I looked at him. “Have you got any cool, smart-ass comments?”

  A corner of his mouth quirked. His forehead furrowed. “Not really. Got something I can use?”

  Kids. So embarrassing. I sighe
d. “Just do that thing where you swell up and your face sinks into darkness—except for the eyes. Even vamps find freakish weirdness intimidating.”

  His features turned circus-clown happy with a huge smile and popping eyes. “Yeah, that’ll work.”

  Like black ink welling up through his skin, his paleness was swallowed. His black clothing smoothed out, losing texture, becoming an even deeper blackness than should have been possible with the bright lighting in the room. It was as if he’d become a man-shaped door to a universe where darkness reigned supreme and alone. His edges fluttered, turning ragged in wind that touched nothing else. Once eyes, only red stars remained to stare back at us all. Those stars rose as his height increased by a yard. I stayed where I was, but the vamps pulled back an involuntary step, bodies hunching with tension. My heightened sense of smell picked up the acid scent of their fear.

  I decided to have some fun sowing seeds of misinformation. I put on a puzzled expression, addressing the vamps. “What’s wrong, never seen an Elder God from the Great Outer darkness?”

  Onyx played along with a sudden, deep echo of voice, “Tremble and despair, mortals. The dream of this universe is passing. Chaos awakes.” For several long moments, he held the looming blackness pose, out-posing the posers, then condensed, allow the illusion of humanity to surface once more.

  He looked at me. “What are those things on the napkins that everyone is eating?”

  “Hors d'oeuvres,” I said. “Cheese puffs with bacon bits. I also smell smoked salmon. Want some?”

  He smiled at the blonde in the silver dress. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  If it were possible for a vampire to get even paler, she would have, knowing he was anything but human. She hurried ahead, snatching a tray from a passing server in black pants, vest, and white shirt with rolled up sleeves. She shoved the entire tray at Onyx. He took it happily, and we allowed our escort to direct us through the party. The self-absorbed guests continued to chatter among themselves, scarcely looking our way. I chalked that up to the mind-rolling aura vamps usually put out.

  I looked up at the vaulted ceiling. At the back of the room, where a second story floor would be, I saw one-way glass. Someone up there was looking down on the party, keeping track of things like Zeus on Olympus. I had the feeling that the Mistress would be up there with her higher ranking court members.

  We went under the overhang of the second story, passing tables and cabinets that were transparent islands in the back warehouse space. Track lighting in the ceiling focused upon these glass cubes and their enclosed shelves. I scanned a row of lacquered boxes, and egg icons on little stands. There were silver platters as well, dotted with a menagerie of multi-colored glass sculptures: a unicorn, dolphin, mermaid, bluebird in mid-swoop, a blue elephant … and nothing was cheap. Paintings hung on the back wall, many by well-known Russian artists, and quite a few forgeries as well. If the vamps weren’t using this place to launder Russian mob money, for a cut, I’d be very surprised.

  Still relatively newborn to self-awareness, my inner dragon peered through my eyes, his greed a rising fog in my soul. His thoughts touched mine: A lot of trash here, but some good pieces, too. Think they’ll miss one of two if we—

  Later, I do some of my best shopping when stores are closed.

  In the link we shared, I felt the sleepy nod of the dragon’s head. I’ll draw up a list of what I want.

  Yeah, you do that. The dragon had no concept of other people having property. In his view there were two kinds of things: what he had, and what he was going to get. I couldn’t fault him though, I shared the same attitude.

  We were led up a spiral staircase that pierced the second floor of the loft. We moved on to an open door that led into the room overlooking the main part of the gallery. Chief stopped us all on the threshold. “Wait here. I’ll announce you to the Mistress.”

  He went in. My gaze followed. From where I stood, I saw a large room lined with crimson drapes tied open by gold ropes. There were 19th century settees and chairs inside, holding down a burgundy carpet. And several guests like those below, but in even more expensive clothing. Chief went out of sight. I waited for his return as murmured voice from the crowd in the private room washed over me.

  Having finished the snacks on his tray, Onyx held it with uncertainty, looking for some place to put it.

  I snatched the tray, and my inner dragon knew at once this wasn’t real silver. No need to keep it. I shoved it into the hands of the blond vamp. “Here, goes with your dress.”

  She bared fangs and hissed at me, and flung away the tray. It embedded itself in a wall.

  “They’re going to take that out of your pay,” I said.

  “Behave!” One of the big vamp goons looming over me hit me in the shoulder with the heel of his hand.

  I barely moved. While I had to use magic to match their speed, my dragon-born strength and toughness of body probably exceeded theirs. I warmed up my Dragon Roar tattoo and paid for it with a phantom pain that reminded me of ritual disembowelment. Fortunately, this cost didn’t require actual damage. I turned to face the vamp who’d shoved me. Foolishly, he thought me the lesser threat and probably safe to pick on.

  With magic in my voice, I gave him an order. “Kneel and beg my forgiveness.”

  He laughed. “Like I’m going to … what the hell!” His knees buckled. He caught himself with his hands. As if driven down by a monstrous weight on his neck, his head dropped to smack the floor. “Please … forgive … this worthless … dog.” The words came out staggered, forced, but he’d obeyed me. I wasn’t totally sure he would. There was a possibility that with their power to roll minds, the vamps might have some immunity to this power of mine. Apparently not, or at least, not at his power level. An older vamp now…

  The humbled vamp surged to his feet. Trembling with rage, he came at me—but the other vamp guard got in the way. He said, “No, not until the Mistress gives the command.”

  Chief returned, his eyes scanning us, taking note of the tension. He looked at me. “Didn’t I say no games?”

  I gave him my best, most-practiced look of utter innocence. “What? You’re saying I started this?” My voice grew colder and dead. “They forced me to show them just how far down the food chain all of you are from me.”

  He could tell there was no lie in my words. A quick second of doubt showed in his eyes about bringing me inside. He vanquished the moment of fear, remembering he was a predator, too, and motioned for us to advance.

  The lady in silver went first. Pink-Boots went next. I

  followed with Onyx a step behind. The two vamp guards brought up the rear. My dragon senses went on overdrive as our group threaded the crowd. I wasn’t hearing much breathing from them, just what was needed for speech. No heartbeats. The wine glasses they held smelled of blood, not alcohol. Except for when they were moving on purpose, they could have been statues. They were all vampires. Rich vampires that might have paid well for the bloodsucking version of immortality. They were new; not yet good at hiding the fact their muscles felt no fatigue.

  The crowd respectfully thinned where a throne stood on a dais, its back to a wall. The glorified chair was carved from ebony in an Imperial, Old World style. The back and seat cushions were red velvet, held in place with brass studs. The throne should have dwarfed the woman on the seat, but her aura of power remained undiminished. This was Dominika Volkov, Mistress of Santa Fe, Goth pale, with searing red lips, smoky cat-eyes, and black braided hair coiling around her head like a crown. She wore a black gown with see-through lace panels that teased without abandoning all modesty. On the arms of the throne, her hands were slim and long-fingered with expensive manicures, black polish with red tips like they’d been recently used to slash open someone’s throat.

  There was a distance to her expression, to her gaze, as if all this didn’t touch her, as if nothing had warmed her in ages though she only looked twenty-five. There were glossy bits of obsidian sewn into the fabric so th
at it twinkled as she drew a deep breath, releasing it as a long, slow sigh.

  I’d seen this before on some of the Old Ones who’d been bored for too long and just want death to come. The mental disconnect in this situation was that she was very young as vampires go to be having this kind of crisis.

  I felt the impulse to widen her hazel eyes and shock her out of her icy distraction. I wanted to rip aside her dress and pound myself into her until she could scream my name in delirium, heated with incandescent passion.

  Really, it would be a public service. Everyone needs a good fuck now and then.

  Chief stopped us well away from her. He grabbed Pink-Boots, pulling him ahead, saying, “I believe this creature has some things he needs to explain to you.” Pink swallowed audibly, trying to clear the terror choking him as he dangling from the grip on his collar.

  Speaking of being fucked…

  SEVENTEEN

  “Managing a willful woman is much like catching

  bullets in your teeth; dangerous if you fail.”

  —Caine Deathwalker

  Chief flung Pink-Boots to the floor in front of the dais. He sprawled and recovered himself slowly, kneeling, putting hands on his knees. He gave a bow of respect and straightened, but kept his eyes down, his head bent. There was no desperation in his posture though I knew he must be feeling it. A predator, he knew better than to show weakness and fear; that would only incite additional cruelty.

  His voice emerged calm and polished. “I have returned with the one you wanted, Mistress, and await your pleasure.”

  I grinned. Nothing about him suggested he had anything to explain.

  “He returns alone,” Chief said. “The two soldiers we sent with him are dead. This coward returns without a scratch.”

  Pink-Boots shrugged. “Soldiers die, it goes with the job. We didn’t have enough men for the task. Getting myself damaged—to accomplish nothing—would have been stupid.”

  That touched something in her, for her gaze came back from infinity, settling on the kneeling vamp. “Yury, are you saying I made a mistake in sending only three of you?”