Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (28 page)

The man behind the solid oak desk was a close copy to the old shaman I’d met at the dhampyr building downtown: same piercing eyes and iron gray hair tied back from a weathered, wrinkled face, but this version didn’t have a walking stick handy.  Behind his desk, a wall of one-way glass let us look out over part of the crowded casino, machines flashing in frenzy.  Fortunately, sound proofing kept the noise out.  The old guy laid a Louis L’Amour western face down on his desk, and pushed to his feet. 

“This way.”  He walked over to a red leather couch with matching chairs.  He took a chair, gesturing at the rest of the seating.  “Please sit.”

Joshua flopped on the couch and locked his hands behind his head.  I took the chair across from the old guy.  The guard moved to a position behind the old guy’s chair where he could watch us.  The wooden coffee table between the old man and me had a small stand that held a ghost flute on it.  From the stain on the wood, I could tell the instrument was used for more than playing music.  It doubled as a peace pipe.  I smelled tobacco, pure, a very high grade.

The old man said, “My name is Thomas Darkcloud.”  He jerked a thumb at the man standing behind him.  “This is my son Joseph.  I believe you already met my brother, the tribe shaman, earlier tonight.”

I nodded.  “I’m Caine Deathwalker.  My friend here is Joshua Kent.”

“He is well known in these parts.  So tell me what the were-liger and dragon-mage want here?”

I wasn’t surprised he knew our natures; we’d been
tasted
by the earth magic on the way here.  To answer his question, I pulled out my phone and pulled up the pictures of the murdered pooka and the bear tracks.  “The water spirits are angry.  Seems a werebear’s running amok.”

Thomas leaned forward, studied the picture on my phone, and reached for the peace pipe and a tin of tobacco.  He filled the hole at the front edge of the flute’s fetish, a wooden carving of a duck head, and handed the instrument to me. 

Anything could have been in the tobacco, but my shield didn’t even flicker with interest.  I used a spark of Dragon Flame off the tip of my finger to light the tobacco. 

Joseph watched carefully as I took a draw of smoke into my lungs through the tapered mouthpiece.  I offered Josh the flute. 

He waved it away.  “Your powwow, not mine.”

I handed the smoking flute back to Thomas.

He took a long draw and exhaled smoke up into the air, letting it hang above us.  “When you came to town, the spirits told my brother about you.  They especially like you.”

It’s hard to believe anything likes me
. 

“Me?  Not so much.”  He took another draw.  “I’ve heard trouble follows you like a moonstruck calf.”

“Then you should answer my questions just to get rid of me.”

He grunted.  “Let me see your phone again.”

I handed him my phone in exchange for the pipe.  The tobacco was starting to smell sweet.  I stared at the soft, curling smoke.  I sniffed.  “Strawberry flavoring.  That’s new.”

“I like to straddle many worlds.”  Joseph helped his father operate the phone, accessing the pictures.  He looked intently at each photo, taking his time.  The photos of the slaughtered pooka didn’t seem to bother him.  He took a lot more time with the bear tracks.

“Can you confirm if it’s a werebear or a skin-walker?” I asked.  If a skin-walker, then the beast might be one of his own people.  I took a drag on the flute and set it on the stand, in the middle of the coffee table.  “And why would it help this woman?”

“It’s not helping her—it’s part of her.  You attack her, you attack it.  It will fight back like any creature.  You should ask instead who the lady is and how she has bonded to such a primal spirit.”

“A fey shifter?” Josh suggested.  “Maybe the bear is not of our world at all.”

“It is part of her, but not her,” Thomas said.  “Its size might be caused by her power, a spirit that feeds on her life, mourning the loss of its own.”

“A ghost bear?  That might explain the green fire,” I said.

Thomas grinned at me.  “Ask her when she catches you.  I think we’re done here.” 

He had his son show us out, leading us to an elevator this time instead of the stairs.  On the main floor, he left us with a word of caution.  “Enjoy our hospitality, but no sneaky white-eyes magic.  We’ll be watching.”

I wanted to take offense at
white-eyes
, but lacked knowledge of my own ethnicity.  If it turned out I had Indian blood, I ought to agree. 

Josh walked away before the warning was finished.  I hurried to catch up.  “Do you have to take such big steps?” I asked.

“I want to find Kat.  She can sometimes get carried away.”

“When she wins or loses?”

“Uh-huh.”

It didn’t take long; she was playing high-stakes poker with a huge stack of chips on the green felt table in front of her.  Slot machines everywhere filled the air with electric-voiced chaos.  I stopped short of the poker table.  A bar near the central hub captured my attention.  “Josh, have her play a few more hands.  I need a drink, or three.”

He waved me off, taking up a position behind Kat’s chair.

I sauntered away, threading the crowd, eyeing the ladies that passed.  I’d have done quite a few of them, but I had a sense that things were moving toward a showdown with the lady and her bear.  She was driven by vengeance.  It would demand to be fed soon.  She’d surface and I’d take her out.  True, I wasn’t quite sure
how
, but I’d think of something.  That’s why I needed to drink.  Some of my best ideas come to me from the bottom of a shot glass, or the g-string of a stripper.

I entered the bar, taking a seat at one of its corners. 
Dreamcatchers were all over the place, one of the few Indian touches to an otherwise modern décor.  Black leatherette booths lined the walls.  The central bar and stools were high off the ground.  The area behind the bar was all chrome and glass shelving where a multitude of bottles.   A big screen TV hung from poles that ran down through the false ceiling they used to create the feel of an intimate space. 

The bartender was a chick in black slacks, white dress shirt, vest, and apron.  Her name tag said: Tammi.  Her hair was neon red, a color only natural to demons in certain hell-dimensions I knew of.  Her roots and nails were black, as well as the raccoon-eye mascara she’d over-applied.  I took a sniff, filtering out the smells of the bar.  Using my new heightened senses was getting easier all the time.  Tammi smelled human.  She also smelled vaguely of pot and recent sex. 
Party girl
.

She smiled brightly.  “What can I get for you?”

I was in mood for something earthy, sweet, and electric blue.  “I’ll take an Envy.”

“That’s not a real drink.”  She gave me a look like I was a tool, just making her job harder. 

I shook my head sadly,
Amateur
.  “You may want to take notes,” I said.  “Mix tequila
, blue curacao, and pineapple juice, shake and serve in a cocktail glass with a crazy straw.  Hold the umbrella.”

A man in a longcoat slid onto the stool next to me.  “Sounds interesting,” he said.  “I’ll have one too.”

She got to work on the drinks as I eased a PPK from shoulder holster, pointing it at the fey next to me under concealment of my coat.  I knew his smell: rot and decay, ancient detritus and winter-killed birds.  Autumn Court fey.  This was the guy I’d tangled with in Dallas, whose brother I’d killed.

“Kind of far from your stomping grounds, aren’t you,” he asked.

I thumbed the safety off.  “You’re one to talk.” 

“Got me there.  Are you going to shoot, or are we going to talk?”

“I’m surprised you’re not trying to kill me.”

“I want to,” he said, “I really do, but I promised
her
I’d lay off.  In exchange, I get that dhampyr bitch of yours.  When she’s begging me for death, screaming—and not in a fun way—I’ll let her know all of it is your fault.  Who knows, if she gets broken in and learns to please me, I may keep her alive for breeding stock.  Of course, she won’t be much to look at by then.”

“This ‘her’ you mentioned, would that be the lady who’s fond of green fire?”

He nodded.  “My brother’s widow.  Her hate puts my own to shame.”

I decided to push for a little more Intel.  “So, she’s fey too?”

“From another clan.  We took the cursed one in when she was cast out by her people.”

“And the bear that travels with her, what’s that about?”

“No,” he said.  “That’s all you get, just enough to whet your appetite.”

Our drinks were served on bar napkins.  He tossed out a twenty and smiled at the bartender.  “Keep the change, sweet lady.”

I sent a flicker of power to my
Dragon Sight
tattoo, taking a stab of pain between the ribs.  For a moment, I saw through the elf’s glamour.  The twenty on the bar was a large, brown leaf, crinkled and mildewed, with wormholes in it.  I smiled.  “You didn’t?  You idiot!”

He turned his lean, gaunt-checked face toward me, raising an eyebrow.

I put my gun away as the bartender picked up the bill.  She wore a bracelet of woven horsehair.  A silver eagle feather dangled from it.  As she looked at the fake bill, it crumbled to dust.  She reached under the bar.  I knew I had very little time before security arrived.

I pulled out some real money.  “This is for my drink.  I’m not with this guy.”

Two male bartenders had come over to stand by Tammi.  One of them took my ten, checked it out, and offered change.

“Keep it,” I said.

The fey next to me looked like he was sweating now.  “Well, I’ve got to be going now.”  He tried to push away from the bar, but it was as if his butt had been super-glued to the barstool.  He reached into a pocket and drew out several small silver coins.  Not strictly legal tender, but Tammi swept them up.  “You’re not getting out of things that easy.”

The bar under his hands cracked, flaking with age.  With his anger, his smell took on a rotting corpse quality.  The fey glared all around, then narrowed his eyes.  “Do you know
what
I am?” 

Sliding off my stool, getting clear, I huffed a little laugh.  “Dead meat?”

He snarled at me.

I threw back my drink, savoring the sweet coldness sliding down my throat, and set the empty glass back on an untainted section of bar.  Strolling out the door, I was almost stampeded by a phalanx of grim-faced security men heading into the bar. 

Something told me Vivian wasn’t going to have to worry about this guy any time soon.