Blood of the Demon (The Silver Legacy Book 3) (8 page)

Crossing the street, she tried to place the many smells wafting into her nostrils. Sweet and sour underneath the smell of fried food and a scent she’d know anywhere: chicory coffee. The only coffee Ames made.

It wasn’t just the aroma, either, or the noise. The architecture made the French Quarter stand tall and proud, like a child who had just learned to tie her shoes. It was enigmatic and purposeful, mysterious and in-your-face, all at once. Denny wasn’t surprised that all she wanted to do was eat.

It took her ten minutes to find the address, upstairs in an odd green shotgun house wedged between two larger houses. As she climbed the stairs, she felt eyes watching her.

Eyes were all over the French Quarter. Denny felt them the moment she stepped foot onto Bourbon Street.

A legacy hunter had arrived and the supernatural world was taking note. She could feel it. Watching her every move.

Yes, she had arrived and her Hanta was wide awake and vigilant, and for that, Denny was pleased. She hoped she would not need it, but was glad it was there.

Ames was right. This was foreign territory. The sounds and smells. The energy like the bass of a loud car stereo.

Thump.

Thump.

Pound.

Pound.

The noise down on the street was relentless, as was the odor of fried foods. They seemed to fry everything here.

Raising her hand to knock, Denny stopped as the door suddenly opened.

“Oh...my,” a woman said, her eyes cascading over Denny’s lithe frame. It was impossible not to notice the obvious leering.

“Hi. I’m Denny Silver. Cassandra gave me your—”

“Yes, yes. Come in. Please.” The tall, curvy woman motioned for Denny to enter a small sitting room. The room had tan walls with high ceilings and eight-inch crown molding. Two cream colored sofas sat facing each other with a chocolate colored coffee table in between. Two bowls of candy sat in beautiful crystal perched on the table.

Before Denny took her seat, the woman stepped right up to her like a dog getting ready to smell her butt. She was a good two inches taller and her blue eyes were riveted to Denny’s. “My, my, my. Had Miss Cassandra not threatened my very life, I might have taken a bite out of you the moment you stepped in. She said you were hot. She just didn’t say how yummy you are.” The woman trailed a finger down Denny’s chest. “Might be worth risking life and limb for a sweet taste of you.”

Denny kept her eyes on the woman. “You’re Jeanette.”

“And you’re delicious.”

The air around them fairly crackled with energy until Jeanette slowly backed away.

“Well, darling, if you know Cassandra, you know that as much as it would please me to have my way with you, it would be best if we conducted business before I lose all self-control.

Denny remained standing. “Cassandra said you could help me locate someone.”

“Let’s sit. Please. Lemonade?”

“That would be great, thank you.” Denny sat on one of the couches and surveyed the room vacated by Jeanette. One wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves illuminated by the natural light streaming in through the large bay window complete with widow seat and black cat.

“Here you go,” Jeanette said, handing Denny a frosty glass of pink lemonade.

“Thank you.” Taking the glass, Denny watched as Jeanette sat next to her, their knees touching.

“The black cat is for fun. You know, stereotypes and all.”

Sipping the lemonade, Denny discreetly moved her knee away. “I’ll get right to it so I don’t waste your time. I’m looking for the demon hunter named Peyton.”

Jeanette looked away. “The hunter prefers solitude and we respect that.”

Setting the sweating glass on the coaster of tiger stripes, Denny nodded. “I understand that, but I think Peyton is in trouble. You need not do anything other than take me there. If all is well, then I leave. If not, then perhaps I can lend assistance.”

“Easier said than done. I don’t know how you do things in Savannah, but here, we witches give a wide berth to hunters who live in the shadows. Peyton Farquar wants nothing to do with us. Those feelings are returned. I’m sorry, but I cannot do as you ask. Perhaps there is some other way I can be of service.” She fairly purred the last sentence.

Denny sipped her lemonade then set it back down before rising. “I see. No, I don’t believe there is. I don’t want to be rude, Jeanette, but I think the hunter might be in trouble, and every minute down is one less I have to find Peyton.”

Jeanette sighed. “Cassandra said you’d say as much. Even if I wanted to take you there, there
is
no there. The hunter moves from place to place, sometimes weekly, sometimes nightly. I can see if my sisters have any idea. Honestly, though, this hunter prefers solitude and takes issue with interlopers—and is as likely to shoot you as to look at you.”

“The bayou?”

“Perhaps. It is easy for one to get lost in there. Leave me your number and I’ll call if I find anything.” Jeanette handed Denny her phone where she entered her number.

“I appreciate this. I really do.”

“Be careful, Hunter. This city has a way of swallowing people up. Trust no one. If you need a place to...sleep...you are always welcome here.”

Denny left Jeanette’s feeling discouraged. If Peyton moved often, it would be that much harder to locate him.

Denny made a call and left a message before returning to her hotel room to don her hunter garb.

If the witches wouldn’t help her, maybe the demons would.

***

N
ew Orleans was crawling with so many demons, it felt like a demon convention was in town. Everywhere she went, a flash of red eye here, a glint there. It was unbelievable the number of demons just cruising around or hanging out in the French Quarter.

Unfortunately, they weren’t demons who could help her find Peyton. No, she needed those creatures who lurked in the shadows preying on the people weaker than they. She needed older demons––demons who would respect the age and power of her Hanta.

Back to the graveyards and shadows she went. Bathed in darkness, dressed in leather, Denny climbed onto a twelve-foot tall mausoleum near the center of the cemetery and waited. She could hear Ames’s reproach about...what did he call it, gargoyle something?

But she could find out a lot if she just stood still and listened. So she waited.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Four mid-levelers cruised by, not even noticing her as she squatted on her haunches like a catcher. Just waiting. As they sauntered through the darkness on their way to trouble, they were oblivious that tonight, trouble would be following
them,
anticipating who their victim would be.

Jumping off the marble and landing lightly on her feet, Denny kept a good distance behind as they exited the cemetery and continued following the river.

Once or twice, one of them would turn to look over his shoulder, but they were too cocky, too full of themselves to believe they were in danger. They never suspected that this would be the last night they’d walk the earth.

Her Hanta would see to that.

He was hungry.

As Denny followed, she did a mental inventory of what she knew and what her plan was. Without pinning Peyton’s whereabouts down, she was needle-and-hay stacking it. She needed direction, a neighborhood,
something
to go on and she needed it tonight. If she didn’t get what she wanted from these thugs, she’d have to spend the entire night picking them off one by one until she got something usable.

She had already left a scathing message on Cassandra’s phone telling her of Jeanette’s lack of interest in helping. These witches and their games were becoming tiresome and Denny had decided to back away from them all upon her return home.

As great as sex had been with Cassandra, those booty-calls were becoming too obligatory for her. Denny felt zero emotional connection when fucking her—not like she had with Brianna.
That
wasn’t just hot; it actually touched her heart. As good as that felt, Denny knew Brianna had to walk away yet again. Cassandra would make certain of that, and Denny just didn’t have the energy to step into
that
ring.

Instead, she would create the space and distance she needed from them all and work on educating herself about their world. Instead of fucking them, she would...

Denny stopped walking.

The four thugs had turned around and were walking back towards her.

That was when she felt it.

Reaching into her vest, she withdrew Epée and Fouet. With a flick of her wrists, they both burst forth from their metal cylinders to shine brightly in the faces of her opponents.

All the demons stopped immediately.

“I thought you said the Legacy Hunter had been taken care of?” said the kid with a tattoo on his neck, his eyes glued to the light of Fouet.

Fouet wasn’t just a chain whip that could slice through living tissue. It was like a living, glowing snake, writhing from the tube, even when Denny stood perfectly still. If it didn’t scare the crap out of you, you were an adversary Denny didn’t want to face.

“Wrong hunter,” Denny growled, backing into a position where she could see all but two of her attackers.

They all seemed to defer to the guy with the neck tattoo, so Denny kept her eyes on him. Fouet whipped and cracked around her like handheld lightning.

“Who you?”

“Of all the cool answers I could give,
your death
is the coolest, so I’ll go with that.” Denny took one step toward him. Fouet sparked and hissed with the sound of arcane electricity.

“Boss, we took da hunter out, man. I dunno who dis bitch is.”

“Clean your ears out, Bubba Gump. I am your death.” With one flick of her wrist, Fouet cleanly sliced through two demons, cutting them nearly in half before anyone could move. They exploded into chunks of meat that sprayed all over the ground in a ten-foot radius.

The demons widened their circle.

“Yeah, I’d stand back too,” Denny snarled, releasing the Hanta within. “Because each one of you is going to wind up lumps of smoldering flesh when I’m through with you.”

Tattoo looked left then right, as if unsure of himself. “You can’t take alla us at once.”

Denny felt the full force of the Hanta inside her. “No? Why don’t we just test that theory?” Whirling around, she cut down the nearest demon with Epée as it sliced from the right shoulder through the left hip. When the two halves were severed completely and started to slide away from each other, each half blew up, scattering more demon detritus everywhere.

A severed foot landed near her and Denny pivoted to her left, snapping Fouet around and decapitating the lone demon smart enough to try to run away. He, too, blew to smithereens.

With demon guts all over her, Denny returned her attention to Tattoo, who had pulled a Glock on her and held it gangster style.

“So long, bitch.”

With the Hanta’s superior vision, she started moving as his finger slowly depressed the trigger. It was almost as if the Hanta had slowed down time. Her body in mid-twist, she dodged to the left just as the bullet exited the muzzle.

The bullet missed her completely.

Half a second later, she swung Epée in Tattoo’s direction and the hand holding the Glock fell to the dirty pavement below, still clutching the gun.

The rest of the demons scattered back to the darkness from which they’d come.

“You fucking bitch! You cut off my hand!”

“Yes, but lucky for you, Epée cauterized it so you won’t bleed out. Not yet anyway.”

Denny looked around. “Looks like you buddies left the party early. Bet that happens a lot here.”

Tattoo glanced down at the gun.

“Oh please make a move for it, asshole. Please. Make my night.” Denny’s voice and her body was hers once more.

“Why are you here? This ain’t none a your business.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken. Where is Peyton Farquar, the hunter?”

Tattoo shrugged. “Not a clue. You know what’s good for you and—”

“What’s good for me,
asshole,
is killing demons like you and gobbling up your oh-so-tainted souls for a quick fast food snack. I’ve tired of your pock marked face. You got nothing I need.” Denny drew Epée back when Tattoo dove for the gun with his good hand.

He ended up leaving his second hand lying next to the first one.

“Motherfucker!” He howled, holding up two stumps from the dirty ground.

“I’ve been called worse. Way worse.”

Tattoo lay on the ground, gawking at his handless wrists. “You cut my hands off you fucking—”

Denny placed Epée inches from his neck. “Enough of that word, jackass. Get up.”

Tattoo struggled to rise.

“I know you all think the legacy hunter is gone, but I am picking up where Peyton left off and I will begin clearing this city first thing in the morning. Low or high level, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ll keep cutting you all in half until one of you tells me where the fuck Peyton is. Until then, you and your handless wrists should be warning enough until someone comes to me with an answer. Got it?”

“You’re way outta your league, Hunter. This is New Orleans, not some backwater town with piece of shit demons.”

Denny grinned. “Savannah’s no backwater town butt munch, and the only league I play in is the major leagues where everything is for keeps, so you and your buddies stay at your own risk.”

Denny retracted her weapons as she watched Tattoo slither back into the shadows. “Assholes.”

Twenty minutes later, Denny was drinking a chicory coffee at Café du Monde and diving into her first order of the world famous beignets.

“Already creating quite a disturbance, aren’t you?”

Denny looked up from her powdery pastry at Jeanette. She had changed her clothes to something flowing and black. Her skirt moved even though she didn’t. Her red tresses hung in a single plait down her back.

“I didn’t come here to play games, Jeanette, but if I must, you’re either on my side or you’re not. I have no use for gray walkers.”

Jeanette sat across from Denny, trying to avoid all of the white powdered sugar. “Gray walkers. I like that.”