Satan's Sword (Imp Book 2) (3 page)

He looked me right in the eye. “I don’t work for no one; I don’t take orders from no one. But if I have to, I might as well take orders from Satan. At least I know where I stand with you.”

Why did these stupid humans keep calling me that? I was most definitely not Satan. The term was actually Ha-satan, the Iblis, the Adversary, the one who tests. It was a title with all sorts of hideous responsibilities attached to it. A title no one had held since the war with the angels so long ago. A title no one wanted.

I gave Candy the thumbs up for the closing to proceed and outlined communications processes with Reed. Although he worked for Candy and would get paid through her, I made sure he knew I needed him to be in direct contact with me on any urgent issues. He seemed very efficient and I doubted I’d ever hear from him again. That done, I headed home to meet Wyatt.

Chapter 3

B
y the time I got home, Wyatt had already loaded up the trailer and hitched it to my Suburban. He was the best boyfriend ever, not that I’d ever had a boyfriend before. All I needed to do was toss my clothes into the truck and load up my gelding, Piper, and off we went.

Normally, I just rode my horses around my property and the neighboring fields, but I had been convinced to enter a show. They were boring and I always came in last, so I didn’t often cave to the invitations. Elsa, my sometimes riding instructor, had invited me. She was very critical of my riding skills, but was always happy to take my money. I don’t know why I kept going to her. She was not respectful and I wasn’t improving any. I think her verbal abuse reminded me of home and I was a bit homesick.

As we parked, I noticed that this was a huge show. Much bigger than the local ones I’d been to in the past. We were a bit early, so I left Wyatt at the trailer with Piper and explored as I made my way to the registration table. A ruckus from a big trailer caught my attention. It sounded like a horse fight, which was unusual at these shows. All the horses here were regularly shown and had the routine down pat. They were typically munching from a hay bag and waiting patiently. I assumed someone’s horse had gotten loose and another was taking exception to the stranger near their hay bag.

Not the case at all, I saw as I came around the corner. Tied to the corner of the big stock trailer was what appeared to be a huge grey Thoroughbred cross. And I don’t mean cross in the horse-breed sense. He was a hybrid. And he’d clearly gotten more than the usual share from his sire. A demon had been across the borders, breeding with a mare. Not as unusual as you’d think, but definitely not common, either. We’ll have sex with anything and can produce offspring with a female of any species if we’re so inclined.

The horse was in a foul mood. He tossed his head, nostrils flaring and ears pinned as he pulled on the rope holding him to the trailer.

“Stop it,” a man said to him as he came around from the back leading another horse.

The hybrid rolled his eyes and lunged at the other horse, snapping. The man went to smack its nose and narrowly missed being kicked by flying hooves as the horse spun around impossibly fast and bucked.

“Tony, come put this crazy thing back on the trailer before it breaks loose and kills someone,” he shouted.

“He just kicks the trailer and makes a huge racket, scaring the other horses,” a voice shouted back.

“No way are you going to be able to ride him today. Ace him and put him back on the trailer.”

Ace, short for Acepromazine, was a sedative. Many riders used it in small amounts to settle nervous horses for trailering, but you needed to be clean to show. Enough of the stuff and your horse would be dozing and drooling, or even passed out.

“Is he for sale?” I asked, pointing at the horse.

The guy started, noticing my presence for the first time.

“Hundred bucks and he’s yours. I’m done with this stupid beast. We trained him for steeplechase, but he gets these crazy moods and no one can stay on him. He bullies all the other horses in the pasture. It takes four ccs of Ace to take the edge off him. We can’t geld him because the anesthesia doesn’t work, so he’s a stallion. He’s dog meat at this point.”

“What’s steeplechase?” I asked.

“It’s a race over rough terrain with jumps. The horses all run together in a field and take the jumps at speed.”

Hmmm. Kind of like the Elven hunts. Sounded more fun than dressage, although I had a tendency to wind up on the ground when it came to jumping.

I handed the guy a hundred dollar bill.

“I need to go register for my event. Can you keep him here and I’ll be right back for him. Don’t Ace him.”

The guy nodded, pocketing the money and I headed for the registration table. Elsa was there and she informed me that she’d already registered Piper and me for Introductory, Level B. It would be me and the eight year old humans out there. You didn’t even canter in Introductory Level B. Ugh.

“Sign me up for the steeplechase, too,” I told her.

She looked at me with hostility. “I’d expect you’d enjoy that sort of thing, but Piper isn’t suitable for that event. He’s a heavy draft horse and doesn’t have the speed for steeplechase. Besides, you can’t manage to stay on over jumps in the arena, let alone a brush jump in the field.”

That was Elsa. So full of encouragement.

“I’m riding the guy’s horse over there,” I pointed at the trailer. “I’ll send Wyatt over with his Coggins in a moment. Just sign me up for it.” I handed her a check, which she took as if it were contaminated with E-coli.

I went to collect my purchase, which was twisting his head and yanking to get free.

“I’ll send my boyfriend over to get his Coggins,” I told them.

Coggins was the required certificate at horse shows that indicated your animal had been tested and free from the viral disease Equine Infectious Anemia. Out-of-state shows often required additional certificates, but locally, Coggins was it. Most horse people carried a stack of copies in their trailer so they always had one handy. I wondered how on earth the vet had managed to draw a blood sample from this particular horse. He didn’t look like he’d take kindly to needles.

I walked over to my new horse who flattened his ears and showed me his teeth.

“Be careful,” the guy warned. “He bites. And kicks. And rears.”

This horse had more of my kind in him than a Low, so I pulled up my mean and threw it at him. To humans, my mean is scary. To my own kind, my mean reveals my status. We’re big on hierarchy at home.

The horse flickered his ears, and pulled his head back in surprise.

“Obey me,” I whispered. I was sure he could hear and understand. “You will fucking obey me or I will take your balls off with my teeth, and without the mercy of anesthesia either.”

The horse wiggled his ears nervously, but met my gaze with a steady defiance. This was going to be fun.

“What’s his name?” I asked the guy.

“Diablo.”

I shook my head in disbelief. What total lack of imagination. I’d live with this for now since it was the name on his Coggins certificate, but as soon as I needed to have him re-tested, I was changing his name. Maybe to something like Buttercup. Or Bunny.

I led a deceptively subdued Diablo back to Wyatt and my trailer. Wyatt jumped to his feet, frowning with disapproval at my new acquisition.

“This is Diablo, soon to be renamed Rosebud. Or possibly Muffin. Can you run by the big trailer over there and grab his Coggins, then take it to the registration table? I’m riding him in the steeplechase.”

Wyatt looked at me as if I’d gone insane. After two years, you would have thought these things wouldn’t surprise him anymore.

“Sam, you are going to kill yourself. You’ve never ridden steeplechase before. You can barely manage second field in a fox hunt.”

“I fall off all the time and I’ve never killed myself yet.” I figured this was going to be a really short event for me.

“Well, maybe you won’t kill yourself, but you’ll be off him at the first fence,” Wyatt said, echoing my thoughts. “Honestly, he looks like he’d enjoy nothing more than throwing you head first into a jump. He’s not even gelded. You’re going to ride a stallion steeplechase? It’s a race, Sam. It’s a flat out race, over jumps, in a field. There’s a reason they call the riders jockeys in these things. It’s fast. You’re up on short stirrups with your rear in the air. It’s close quarters. If you come off, you’ll be trampled.”

Wyatt looked worried. Really worried. I’m not sure why. The worst thing that could happen would be me humiliating myself three seconds into the race. He should be used to this sort of thing.

“This is going to be fun,” I told him. “It will counteract the horrible boredom of the dressage test I’m doing this afternoon. Don’t be a stick in the mud. Please go take care of the registration. Oh, and did you pack my jumping saddle?” I asked. It was going to really suck if I had to do field jumping with a dressage saddle.

“Yeah, I thought you might do some light stadium jumping, but not this,” he protested.

He
was
worried. It tugged at something inside me. No one had ever worried about my safety before. Were all human boyfriends this way? I walked over to kiss him but Diablo took exception to the public display of affection and tried to bite Wyatt. No way was I putting up with that crap, so I zapped him with a small disciplinary burst of raw energy and he jumped back, looking at me appraisingly. I kissed Wyatt again, this time without interruption, lead rope firmly in hand. We stood for a moment, arms around each other, as I breathed in his warm, human scent.

“I’m going to do this Wyatt. I’ll either stay on or I won’t. You should video it just in case I fly off and he drags me around the field. You could post it all over YouTube, or maybe even sell it to one of those funniest video shows.”

Wyatt sighed and kissed the top of my head.

“Okay. Please keep your heels down and don’t get too forward on your jumps.”

Wyatt went to take care of my registration and I led Diablo around to tie him next to Piper. He snapped and pawed at my big gelding, who eyed him placidly and continued to munch from his hay bag. That’s my boy. Unflappable, even with some crazy animal threatening him. Steeplechase was the first event, so I put my field saddle on the grey, making sure I pulled the stirrups all the way up. It was going to be really weird riding that way. I wouldn’t have much leg against the horse to hold on. Given my horrible balance, I probably
would
be off at the first jump. Luckily, Piper’s bridle fit Diablo with some small adjustments. Piper was well-mannered, so I’d put a gentle snaffle bit on the bridle. With this monster I’d probably have chosen something like a double twist wire. I’d have to rely on my own special skills to keep him in line and not the bit. Just as well. Elsa was always yelling at me to ride with my seat and not my hands anyway.

Before I led Diablo to the warm-up field, I needed to have a chat with him. Just to make sure we both knew who was holding the reins in this relationship. I stuck my thumb and fingers at the edge of each nostril and held him just above the lip, forcing him to meet my eyes.

“I know what you are, and I’m sure you know what I am. Life with me will be far better than with the humans. I understand what you need, and I’ll allow you privileges beyond what the humans would, but I will not allow you to attack what is mine. That horse over there, he is mine and you are not to threaten him or hurt him. The human who was here, he is mine and you are to obey him as you would me. If you harm him in any way, I will not hesitate to kill you. Death by my hands will not be quick or painless. Make me angry enough to kill you and you will wish you had met your end at the slaughterhouse.”

I wanted to be firm with him, but I didn’t want him to think I would crush his spirit or deny him expression of who he was. It’s so hard to tell with hybrids how much firmness to use and how much kindness they needed. Boomer, my Plott hound hybrid, needed a good deal of kindness and a gentle touch. I got the feeling that I would need to treat this horse more as I would a full demon.

We walked without incident over to the practice field and I scrambled into the saddle, wondering how long I’d be up there. The short stirrups felt weird, and I immediately pushed some raw energy down into the horse to help me hold myself on. Diablo danced sideways, but didn’t seem displeased with the energy. It had taken me months of work with Piper before he would even let me touch him. As a hybrid, Diablo was more accepting. Eventually he would be able to tolerate quite a bit of raw energy, but this was new to him and I wasn’t sure how he’d react.

More secure in my seat, we trotted and cantered about, even taking a small cross-rail jump. At this point, my only plan was to just stay on the damned horse for as much of the race as I could. I really didn’t care if I came in dead last. Warm-up was uneventful, so I had high hopes as we made our way to the field. Okay, high hopes was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like I had minimal hopes. Or desperate hopes.

My hopes were dashed at the starting line. Diablo danced around, whirling like some kind of dervish and making threatening faces at the other horses that, for the most part, ignored him. As the gun went off, he was facing backwards and had to spin around before taking off. Dead last. Luckily, Diablo had a plan. He quickly made his way into the pack where he decided the main purpose of the race was to body slam the other horses and try to bite them. My main purpose was to keep my horse between me and the ground, so I let him do whatever he wanted and concentrated on holding on for dear life.

The course was two miles, which goes surprisingly fast when you’re galloping flat out. At the first fence I had a moment of anxiety. The thing was over three feet in height and looked like a hedge with a two foot tall green padded roll in front at the takeoff. Diablo didn’t seem to jump high enough to clear it, and for a moment I was convinced we’d knock the fence over and go tumbling across the dirt. Instead, his hooves tore through the brushy top and I realized the solid part of the fence was much lower. Halfway through the race, I began to feel a bit more secure in my seat and I tried to urge Diablo to pull ahead. I knew he was capable of more speed, especially as I was increasing his oxygen uptake, but he didn’t want to forego the joy of bullying the other horses. The field was thinning out as we made it down the last stretch, so, in a final effort, I encouraged Diablo verbally.