Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (10 page)

“You had it coming at the time, but I’ll tell you what; you can have Vivian, if she’ll let you.”

She moved to a bar stool several seats away from William, and slanted her glower from him to me.  “You can both fuck off and die.”

The Old Man and
Achill laughed raucously. 

William
switched for the seat next to Vivian. 

I grabbed my iPod from under the bar and played Limp Bizkit’s
Nookie
.  Listening to my choice, everyone stared.  I lifted an eyebrow.  “What?”

No one answered, just looking away.

Rummaging for the good Jack, I found the obsidian bottle I’d lost track of.  I popped the cork and sniffed.  Jack and Coke.  I poured some into a three-inch glass, and threw it back.  Mixed perfectly.  I immediately poured another, and peered into bottle, shaking it a little.  As full as ever.

Old Man studied the bottle.  “What exactly is that?”

I gave him a piercing stare to clue him in.  “
Red Moon
brand, if you know what I mean.”

William leaned into Vivian, draping an arm over her shoulder.  “You can’t hurt my feelings,” he said.  “I love a challenge.”

My hand slid onto my weapon.

Vivian took hold of his hand, lifting it off her shoulder.  She squeezed it.  “Love this?”

William squealed, jerking his paw away.  He wiggled his fingers experimentally.  They were mangled.

I smiled.
  Good girl.

His wolfen healing power cut in, undoing the damage. 

Achill slid a drink in front of him, a distraction. 

William ignored it, his face clouding with anger.  The man and his inner wolf had a definite problem handling rejection. 
So much for loving a challenge
.

I moved opposite Vivian, sliding my PPK along on the bar.  “Want to borrow my gun?”

She gave me half a smile and shook her head.  “Nah, I’m good.”

I recovered my gun and holstered it, as the doorbell rang.  I ignored the summons, knowing Osamu would get it.  A minute later, as I slammed down another Jack and Coke, the door to my office opened.  I felt a cold chill as Osamu led Izumi and Angie in.  The girls smiled
.  Their happy looks went hard and cold as they spotted Vivian close to me.

I felt like yelling—“
There’s plenty of me to go around
!”—but kept the comment to myself, doubting it would help.  Instead, I caught Vivian’s gaze.  “Do yourself a favor, and lay off all comments on the fey.”

She looked puzzled.  “Why?”

I stared past her at Izumi.  “Hi, Izumi.  I see you’re back from Under-the-Hill.  How’s the queen mother doing?”

“Bossy as ever,” Izumi answered, but kept her eyes on the Slayer.  “What’s
that
doing here?”

Vivian kept her gun holstered and the silver knife in her boot sheath.  Her hand slid to her right thigh for the iron blade.  She loosened the knife, ready to draw it at the next insult. 
That’s what I like about her.  She doesn’t talk trash, she just takes it out—not that Izumi can’t take care of herself.

“This is Vivian,” I said.  “She’s going to
Sacramento to help us broker peace, and find the dream stone.”

Angie crowded in between William and Vivian.  She gave Vivian a hard once over, frowning.  “You’re not going to get far or keep a low profile with her dressed as a Slayer.  You’re going to be moving among the preternatural elite.  You ought to dress for success.”

Vivian returned the raking stare, taking in Angie’s ass-hugging shorts, fuck-me heels, and tight tee.  “I’m being given fashion advice from Street-Walking Barbie?”

I leaped to Angie’s defense before her wolf temper flared.  “This is her down time.  When Angie argues in front of a jury, she’s prim, proper, and hot as hell.”

“That a fact?” Vivian said.  “You’re a lawyer and a wolf.  That makes you a predator twice over, doesn’t it?”

Angie’s eyes narrowed to glinting yellow slits.  “You got a problem with me?”

“A rogue wolf killed her mother,” I said.

“Your mother,” Izumi’s tone was one of muffled distress.

“Your mom!” Angie’s words sank in volume, dragged down by sadness.

A dead, oppressive silence set in. 

I hate dead, oppressive silences.  “Hey girls, want to do me a favor and take Vivian shopping?  I’ll loan you a credit card.  Treat it kindly”

“Credit card!”  Angie’s eyes widened in orgasmic pleasure that made her forget all about the argument with Vivian.  “If you want my help, I need a new outfit too.”

“I know I’m going to regret this.”  I pulled out my ultra-black credit card with platinum trim—accepted around the world, in various hell dimensions, as well as the courts of the fey.  I don’t leave Earth without it.  “What do you say, Izumi?”

She grabbed the card from my hand and hurried for the door with Angie a step behind.  I looked at Vivian.  “Better hurry or they’ll leave without you.”

Vivian ran after them.

William watched her go.  “She’s just playing hard to get.  I can tell she wants me.”

The rest of us guys suddenly got interested in our drinks.  We could have burst his bubble, but that wouldn’t have been half a challenge.  What the hell, I’m not a nice guy.  “She’d do Bigfoot before you.”

“One of these days, Caine…”

“I’m sorry, did I say that out loud?”

William turned wolf-yellow eyes my way.  “
Hey, what gives you the right to be giving orders to Angie anyway?  I run the pack.”

The question got
Achill’s attention.  Settling at the end of the bar, he studied us.

I held a finger up for William to see.  “One, I asked her.  I didn’t order.”  I held up another finger, curving them so I could poke him in the eyes if he lunged.  “And two, fuck you.”

William jerked, attempting to climb the bar and rip out my throat.  My protective tat warmed and a partial barrier formed between us, smacking him back onto his stool.  By then, I had my PPK in hand, the barrel pointed at his face. 

My cold, self-indulgent smile is the last thing some people see on Earth.  It’s not pretty.  I gave that smile to William.  And I didn’t forget the other threat in the room.  With peripheral vision, I caught a yellow flash as
Achill’s eyes ignited.  I shifted to see him better without losing track of William.  Achill’s face showed cold intensity, but not true anger.  I hadn’t hurt one of his wolves—yet. 

The air grew damp with a sea salt smell.  Magic rolled over us in thick, crushing waves, then withdrew like a tide.  Old Man’s magic, nearly slipping the chain, sent a warning.  He said, “Caine, put the gun down.  If you kill the wolves, who am I going to play chess with?  You?  You always kick the board over when I’m about to win.”

I put the gun down.  “Fine, I’ll play nice.  By the way, where are Kimberly and her pet monkey?”

Old Man’s brow furrowed.  “She retired to her room, said something about getting some dream time in so she could report to her Mistress.  The fey is probably watching over her while she sleeps.”

I took the obsidian bottle and backed up to the wine cellar elevator.  “Fine.  I’m going down to work on my zombie apocalypse suit.”

Achill
’s dark eyes glinted.  His smile came out from hiding.  “Really?  You got one of those too?  Re-enforced poly-carbon micro fibers?”

“A serious warrior would use nothing less.”  I pushed the call button and waited for him to come around the bar and join me.  The doors opened and we got on.  “You can look, but don’t touch.”  The doors closed and we rode down.

My apocalypse suit was made of light-weight Kevlar with woven tungsten fibers.  Small pieces of plating covered vital areas.  The outfit had been painted matte black and had leather harnesses containing four PPKs, various grenades, a combat knife, and short swords crossed in back where they could be easily reached.  I’d been soaking the armor in eldritch energy for a year now, making a sort of mystic battery out of it.  As zombie apocalypse suits went, this was top of the line. 

Achill
was in for a hell of a surprise.

The doors clacked open.  We stepped out into moderate gloom, the lamps of the armory section throwing long shadows across the basement, over the glass doors of the wine coolers.  My computer monitor was on as well, though I don’t remember leaving it that way.
 

I pulled both PPKs, hearing a foot scrape up ahead, seeing a shifting shadow where no shadow was supposed to be.  “Who’s there?” I called.

There was a sinister laughter, a foul rotting stench, and a swirl of midnight green cloak—and I had my answer. 
Autumn fey.  The one I saw in Dallas by the burning car.  He’s not only traced me, but he’s broken in through the Old Man’s protective wards, probably weakening them with rot.

And he seemed to be holding some of my property.

“Put down the apocalypse suit and your death will be merciful,” I promised.

His cold, mocking laugh came again, followed by a few of the flash grenades off my suit.  They smacked to the floor and bounced toward us.

“Fuck me blind!” Achill cursed.