Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (44 page)

THIRTY-ONE

“Once I hammer the puzzle-pieces into place

the simple beauty of slaughter can begin.”

                                              —
Caine Deathwalker

Our vehicles cut across the heart of the Greenhaven suburbs.  Osamu drove Kimberly in the moss green VW bug, staying behind my Mustang.  I wanted her near as a consultant on the dream stone, but not underfoot during the battle.  I trusted Osamu to keep her alive if some of the fighting spilled over on them out front.  I’d had Josh call in a few favors.  Officially, this was a PRT operation and the police were told to stay clear, no matter what complaints were phoned in by the neighbors. 

We turned onto
Moonlit Circle, nearing our prey.  The anticipation of blood already had me hard, as did thoughts of Brielle.  Now that I knew she had the dream stone, all that remained was my last-second decision on exactly how I’d kill her.  That would depend on circumstances at the end of the battle.  Battle plans were usually pretty mangled by actual battles.  Nothing ever went as expected.  I’d learned from experience not to guess what an enemy
might
do, but to be prepared for anything they
could
do.  I muttered to myself, “Thinking always slows me down.”

There was a brief lull in the background chatter.  In the front passenger’s seat, Vivian nodded in sad sympathy, but neither she nor Josh commented on what I’d said.  I threw her a cold stare.  “Shut up!”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Yeah, but your silence was deafening.”  I rolled my shoulders, still adjusting to the fit of the Kevlar armor under my longcoat.  Lightweight, matte black, it had carbon micro-fibers inside that made it much stronger than other types.  I’d super-glued the small mirror I’d gotten from the troll onto the chest.  In a pinch, linked to mirrors back in
Malibu, the small mirror could be used to replenish ammo and booze.  The mirror also let Old Man watch events around me, taking a hand in battles now and then if he wanted to.

I remembered six months back during that red moon business, one of Old Man’s oversized blue forearms had magically poked out of the mirror, as if I’d grown a spare arm in the middle of my chest.  He’d fired off a lightning bolt at one of my enemies while I was being hard-pressed.

Such fun!

My nimble fingers ran over all the gear velcroed on: flash-bang grenades, smoke bombs laced with garlic, a sheathed Seal Team knife—partly serrated with glass reinforced nylon grip, ninja throwing spikes, and clip after clip of assorted ammo.  Unlike my stolen zombie-apocalypse suit, my current outfit lacked sheathed short swords across the back. 

I gripped the wheel tightly, bracing myself as I warmed my
Dragon Sight
tattoo to life with a thought.  The sensation of both lungs exploding into so much cottage cheese passed quickly.  I used the same dragon magic as last time I’d come, sweeping the street for traps laid by dhampyr magic. 

Nothing
.  The sense of curious, magical tendrils was gone.  No one was watching the approach to the mansion.  The gates were wide open as well. 
Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

Climbing the drive to Brielle’s mansion, the root beer colored Mustang rumbled like a starving beast about to pounce.  The overhead sky was a red haze framing dark clumps of cloud.  A hint of rain lingered in the breeze that shivered the trees.  There were no cars in the drive.  Probably in the big-assed garage, or parked down the block.  Imagining tears if the dhampyr got their expensive cars riddled with bullets, I smiled.

The mansion lights burned on every floor.  Pale faces wearing sunglasses hovered in the windows, cautiously peering out, exposing as little as possible. 

Waiting on the front porch, two Dhampyr guards wore black suits—a common uniform for thugs, as well as black gloves and sunshades.  Their suits were strained.  Apparently, they hit the gym often.  Bulges in their jackets indicated holstered weapons. 

The limo had stopped on the drive, well back from the front entrance.  With the tinted windows, one person could have been inside, or an entire hit squad.  Its presence alone served as a source of agitation to the dhampyr guards.  Not that I was going to give them time to get too concerned.  I spun the vehicle so its nose faced the guards on the porch. 

“Show time!”  I shoved open my door, and slid out. 

Vivian did the same. 

Josh bailed on her side of the vehicle, already coming out of his clothes as they tore off his swelling, gigantic frame.  A growl of pain escaped him, a sign he was pushing the shift faster than was wise.

I ran for the front door, my red shield flickering to life, deflecting bullets out of my face.  Vivian ducked behind me for cover, following closely.  I thought I’d beat both of my friends to the guards this time.  Didn’t work out that way.  Josh, now a snarling, gold furred behemoth, fell out of the sky, onto the top of my shield, his claws scrabbled for a hold.  Deflecting bullets, my barrier stayed hard, providing a stepping stone to the battle.  Josh sprang once more.  He went up against the second floor of the building, exploding inward through broken glass.  Multiple shots erupted in the house.

Then, I had no thought to spare for Josh because we were in striking range of the dhampyr guards on the porch.  Seeing their guns were useless, they braced themselves, as if they could roll back my shield with brute force.  Their hands flattened on the barrier as their bodies strained.  It was stupid really, them making themselves so vulnerable.

Vivian took a page from Josh’s book, vaulting onto my shield, sliding over its dome, and down in front of me.  While still high in the air, she executed a split, double kick to the head of both guards.  Her boots’ stiletto heels punctured one man’s eye and the other man’s temple.  As they crumpled, she landed between them.  She finished them off with combat knives, slicing across their throats.   Lovely, crimson blood burst from pale flesh, spraying the air with ever lessening force until their hearts stilled.

Her knives caught my attention, red runes set in black iron.  There was also a death’s head motif inside spiral lines; a screaming skull—eternal death.  The blades slightly darkened the air around them with the shadow-aura of captured souls.  These were demon-forged blades, cursed weapons able to break the healing power of supernaturals.  If this was standard Slayer issue, I’d have to check into their supplier.  They might have some unique toys they’d part with, for a price.

Without a backward glance at me, Vivian surged against the closed door, lashing out with a kick.  How her heels didn’t break was a mystery, but then, I didn’t know how she could run around on them—looking so hot—and have any kind of balance.  The stems were incredibly thin.  Titanium, maybe.  Possible made by elves.

Unfortunately, the door was not impressed.  It shivered under a second kick, but showed no sign of yielding.

In the absence of an immediate threat, my shield thinned away.  I stepped forward, one of my new Beretta PX 4 subcompacts in my left hand, and nudged her out of the way.  “Let me give it a try.”

She looked at me with skepticism, doubting my manly prowess, but drew aside.  I reached out with an empty right hand, fingertips tracing the pattern of the grain.  My invoked
Dragon Sight
tattoo was still active, letting me see a red glow that sheeting across the wood.  The entrance was reinforced with dhampyr magic.  The wood would resist brute force and magical assault as well. 

The dhampyr inside had forgotten one thing, however.  Doors open from both sides.  I fed life force into my
Dragon Voice
tattoo.  Pain shredded my nervous system, as if someone had stabbed me in the back, and then proceeded to cut a spiral coil down my torso, front to back, on and on.  I made a point to grit my teeth and not bite through my tongue until the agony ghosted away.  I swallowed the scream that had caught in my throat, and forced my raw voice into use, yelling through the door to the inside guards.  “Open the damn door so I can kill you!”

Vivian snorted in a very unladylike manner.  “Like that’s going to work.”

There came a rattle of locks and the door was hauled open from the inside.  The magic door had stopped everything but the power of my voice.

Vivian stared.  “How’d you do that?”

“Less talking, more killing.”  My gun bucked in my hand, spitting flame as I emptied a full clip of explosive rounds that shredded dhampyr hearts and brains, splattering the foyer with blowback.  We entered the foyer, stomping across the bodies, looking for a few with some life left in them.  I changed the clip in my weapon, letting my shield haze the air between me and the living room where some of the dhampyr were shooting from behind assorted furniture.

“I got this.” Vivian crouched low, hugging the outer edge of the doorway as she careful squeezed off shots.  The edge of the door splintered as the dhampyr inside tried to put her down.  A thin line of blood appeared where a chip of wood cut her check.  As she smelled her own blood, the pale pink of her eyes deepened to a frosty ruby, reminding me that she was no common dhampyr, but had the blood of a master vampire in her veins. 

“Fine, have fun.”  I tossed a couple smoke grenades into the room and strolled toward the dining room.  We needed to clear the ground floor before moving upstairs where I expected the Brielle to be holding court. 

I entered the dining room, turning toward the part of it I hadn’t been able to see.  My shield caught a hail of incoming bullets.  The lead slugs flattened midair and dropped to the floor, bouncing and tumbling. 

With a thought, I summoned my demon sword from my armory under the Malibu house.  The Muramasa blade was straight, not curved like most katana.  Unlike Osamu’s demon blade, my sword was elegantly simple, without jewels or a fancy design on the hand guard.  I tightened my grip on the gray-green, crocodile skin that wrapped the hilt, and I glowered at the dhampyr that insisted on emptying their clips at me.