Demon Hunt (12 page)

She left the gun on the counter, making a mental note to herself to get Bobby Wayne to accompany her to fire a few practice shots the next day and headed for the comfort of hot water, steam and fluffy towels.

* * * *

The gray stones of the house on the cliff were cold. An appalling cold clung to Troy’s bones as he made his way down to the dining room where his master sat, savoring various delicacies they had picked up in Denver and watching one of his favorite television shows on the plasma screen mounted on the far wall.
Angel
was an ironic choice, the assistant thought. But he had to admit the story lines were amusing.

The champagne flute in front of Manius Black held champagne. A beautiful presentation of Oysters Rockefeller sat untouched to one side. Troy reflected that his master probably had enough of regular food and needed something more
soul satisfying,
as he often said. The man who mentally referred to himself as Manius’ ‘bitch’ examined his own appearance in a nearby mirror before approaching his master. The wool slacks and tasseled loafers he wore were immaculate. His oxford shirt and silk tie spotless, his hands scrubbed clean and nails manicured. If slutty little Cassie could see him now. But then, she couldn’t see anything anymore, could she?

“
Troy, it’s not nice to think about poor little Cassie that way,” his master said aloud, not bothering to glance behind his chair. “She served a purpose.”

After five years, it still spooked Troy how well his master could sometimes read his mind, even though he was well aware that the immortal’s powers could be awe inspiring. Manius knew Troy’s every desire, jealousy, and perversion and seemed amused by his perversions. He completely controlled Troy, and never let his servant forget that he could squash him like a bug any moment.

But the rewards Manius promised took Troy’s breath away. He didn’t know where the man got the gold, but the vampire was never without a large amount of the local metal in the form of battered bars, inscribed with Spanish words and Roman numerals. When they made one of their frequent treks down to Colorado Springs or to Denver, Manius always stopped by a seedy pawnshop specializing in such items.

The walking dead man sucked up modern society and its conveniences like a starving man might inhale a hamburger. He was mesmerized by television for weeks on end. He read every book and magazine Troy could find while hiding out in an empty Cripple Creek vacation home before entering the brave new world, where he appropriated every possible comfort and luxury for himself.

Clothes, furniture for the new homes they bought and refurbished, delicacies and wines, art, everything Troy could imagine wanting. The pair traveled the world, indulging every vice and causing as much chaos, mischief and death as possible while waiting for something. But what
something
was Troy wasn’t sure of.

Troy knew his master fed off of the pain and fear of others. Manius became positively jolly when they were near a war zone. The more vicious the conflict, the happier he was.

Troy spent nights gazing at the plastered ceiling in the suite Manius provided to him, dreaming of what he would do once his master unleashed his will on the world. The new 4x4 he spotted the other day at the Land Rover lot in Colorado Springs would be good. He had seen some of the world at his master’s side and could imagine a bit more than a 4x4 truck. If he had sold his soul, he would make the sale worthwhile.

Upon their return from abroad to the mountain town, Manius anxiously spent months searching for signs of something. He scoured the town at night after meditating for hours, invading the minds of the more susceptible citizens and the secluded homes of the less alert who made the mistake of inviting him in. With some kind of deadline looming, Manius sent Troy to Denver to snatch teenaged girls to hold prisoner at the Castle to sacrifice for power and knowledge. The vampire wasn’t ready to hunt openly.

The butchering of chunky young prostitutes on a convenient block of granite in the secluded garden didn’t bother Troy any more than the other kidnappings and slayings of hookers they committed throughout the larger cities they had inhabited over the years.

Manius, if he were feeling magnanimous, would allow Troy to play with the sacrificial victims first. The girls wept, begging for mercy and would do anything. The power of those moments intoxicated Troy. But he lost his taste for watching the actual killing after a few months. Like watching the fifth installment of the latest slasher movie franchise, after a while, the scenes were just gore.

A recent sacrifice spewed the information Manus searched for in a disembodied voice that sounded like it had risen from the lowest pit of Hell. Fate worked her spell and Rhiannon Brennan moved to Cripple Creek. It would only be a matter of time until the world that had spurned Troy as a gawky teenager bowed down to his master.

Upon the news, Manius told his disciple that he would be bringing aboard some other
friends
and the castle was immediately infested with what Manius called demons. Troy recognized the creatures from the gold mining legends. The monsters crawling and creeping through every crevice of the house were Tommy Knockers, demons that haunted the deepest shafts of mines that had been dug too deep and too greedily. Legend described the monsters as beings that knocked on the wood beams of the old mines to either warn of impending cave-ins or to cause them. After seeing the bloated, twisted creatures of all sizes and shapes, rancid-smelling and filthy - Troy couldn't imagine them warning anyone of anything.

Now, as he stood behind the mahogany captain’s chair of the 1800’s era dining suite they had purchased in a Denver antique shop, he examined the beautiful silverware in the hands of his master and mentally added some to his pay off list. He might get Manius to throw in one or two demons as well. They had their uses.

“
Should I get the car out for the evening, sir?” he asked Manius in a modulated tone. He had not used the word ‘sir’ for most of his life up to this point, but after the pointed example Manius made of Cassie, Troy found he didn’t mind using the word at all.

Manius Black leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, savoring the last golden drop of champagne in his glass before answering.

“
Of course we’re going out tonight. Friends I haven’t talked to in
years
have arrived in town. It could be an exciting evening, Troy. Be sure to dress accordingly. And afterwards, maybe we can stop off for a bite?”

Troy turned to leave and prepare the car for the evening, feeling the weight of his master’s gaze following his skinny form out of the room. He heard rather than saw the demons scurry from underneath the table to gather around Manius, little damnations whispering and caressing him. Their unimaginable dirty white skin revealed in the light of the Swarovski chandelier, the ink black shadows of the creatures swallowing whatever light touched them. Troy didn’t turn back, not wanting to see the expression of satisfaction on the demon lord’s face as his adoring ‘subjects’ worshiped him.

Chapter Twelve

The casino had exactly five customers, all playing nickel slots. The pit boss stood behind Rhi as she guarded her vacant blackjack table. Her face was expressionless but her mind flew in every direction, trying to absorb what she had witnessed and read in the last couple of days.

She had spent most of the shift eyeing the large front doors, waiting for the mysterious Jack Blackthorne to glide in like a big graceful panther on the hunt.

“
Don’t those fabulous legs get cold in a mini skirt at this altitude?” Stephen queried, breaking her train of thought. He grinned as he took in the expanse of leg showing beneath her table. “Do those pantyhose have any value in regards to warmth?”

“
What? You’ve
never
worn pantyhose? Trust me, they aren’t warm but money is. I’m hoping to make some tips and showing a little leg never hurts. But these tuxedo shirts and vests are about as sexy as my third grade Sunday school teacher, Miss Frazier.” Rhi did a little dance to better showcase her assets.

The dark-haired man leaned over the felt table top to examine the six decks of cards fanned on display by their dealer. “All I have to say is your Sunday school teacher must have been a hottie, because you do strange things to me when you show up in a starched white blouse and gold stitched vest. And
I’m
gay!”

Rhi burst out laughing, well aware of the dapper man’s status on the dating scene.

He continued, “It’s ten, why don’t we close this table down and let you get out of here? The Winter Fest is coming up, and neither of us will get out of here early during that mess. Unless the murder keeps everyone away.”

They both were silent for a moment at the mention of the murder. The loss of Marie had opened up raw wounds for the casino’s employees, and they dealt with the murder the only way they could – silence.

Stephen broke the uncomfortable moment. “So – got a hot date?”

Rhi pasted on a bright smile. “Dinner and drinks with Pam and Houston at Casa De Oro. If I wear this outfit, can I get some per diem money for advertising this hole-in-the-wall casino?”

“
Are you kidding? I can’t turn in a receipt to Max for per diem money! He thinks per diem is French for strip bar!”

Both weakly laughed at the mental picture of the casino’s manager, a local ‘mountain’ man who crammed his lumberjack physique into a suit for sixty hours a week to run their place of employment, and his definition of ‘per diem’.

They began to close down the table, counting down the cheques and sorting cards when Pam sauntered through the doorway. The wind blowing off of Pikes Peak made for a wind chill of minus ten but Rhi’s neighbor wore a red mini skirt and tights with a clinging black v-neck sweater in spite of the cold, topped by an ankle-length white coat made out of quilted goose down.

Stephen gave the newest arrival the once over and whistled. Pam strutted a bit and then glared at the pit boss as he headed to the podium to lock up the cards.

“
I have razors in my shower older than you, little boy. And straighter.” Pam looked amazingly spunky for a woman who held down two jobs at two different casinos, clocking 60 hours on her feet in a blackjack pit some weeks. Her daughter’s financial future and her own was close to being secured by her hard work and careful business acumen. When the mortgage on the properties at Horse Thief Gulch was paid in full, Pam planned to cut back to 35 hours a week - the minimum needed to continue benefits and devote her life to her daughter. Men need not apply to enter the world the woman had built for herself. Pam publicly stated on a regular basis that she had donated enough time, energy and cash to the male half of the human race. Now they were for entertainment value only.

Rhi eyeballed her friend as she approached the blackjack pit. “Still trying for the ‘burn the town down’ effect? You didn’t go to the funeral home in that outfit for Marie’s viewing, did you?”

“
I was one of the better dressed ones. Melon Evans wore his snow mobile gear. And Chief Boyd wore jeans and work boots but was still as cute as a basset hound. Some folks wore their casino uniforms. Anyway, my mother has Katie for the rest of the week, the funeral isn’t till tomorrow and I have got to work it while I can.” Pam extended a long leg for inspection. “I’m wearing tights. I’m as warm as five-alarm chili. And might I add that you have enough leg showing to shame a Vegas showgirl.”

“
I plan on changing into a nice pair of cords. But I can’t decide on whether I should wear my black leather boots or my running shoes. This hunted feeling keeps interfering with my sense of fashion.” Rhi busily sorted the cards into their boxes, not glancing up at the plate glass doors. She had managed to not stare at the casino entrance for almost five minutes.

Pam surveyed the almost empty casino, obviously looking for anything suspicious.

“
No one has strangled me today, visible or invisible,” Rhi noted dryly. “By the way, I think your other tenant is trying to steal my dog.”

Pam grinned. “Having Bobby Wayne keep an eye on your house was a good idea. He entertains your dog and will shoot anything or anyone funny looking. Bobby’s becoming useful. I can even stand to hang around him for more than a few minutes, although if he starts making sense, send for a straightjacket.”

“
The only thing I’m worried about is the possibility that he might shoot some poor, unsuspecting goober.”

“
Oh don’t be silly, Bobby Wayne would never shoot someone who didn’t deserve it! Now let’s get you off this table and dressed – we’re going out to chat with Houston, but I’m hoping for a good sloshing too,” Pam told her. “I’m attending a funeral tomorrow, I’ll be miserable anyway. Might as well be hung over.”

“
You know, I haven’t been sloshed since right after my divorce. Mildly inebriated once or twice with you as the instigator, but not sloshed.” She groaned inwardly at the memory of the aftermath of a good sloshing.

“
No booze! No sex! No use and no lubrication, a girl could rust!”

After a quick stop at the locker room to allow Rhi to freshen up and change clothes, they headed out the service entrance into the night air for the short hike to the
Casa de Oro,
the newest Mexican restaurant in town.