The Last Slayer (6 page)

I got to my feet, staggering like a drunken sailor. My sex was swollen and moist, every inch of my body felt raw, and the damned demon was gone. I had no idea where to find him so I could wring his neck. I glanced at my hands. They weren’t burned as I’d expected, but…the slimy feeling was gone. Weird.

And speaking of weird, how the hell had he gotten inside my dream? I thought back carefully. I hadn’t invited him in any way. He didn’t have anything of mine to create a link. And there was another line of defense in my home—Valerie’s wardings, the best in the business.

When I felt a little surer of my balance, I glanced at the ceiling, then stared with my mouth open. The wardings were intact, which was impossible if I’d been dream-invaded.

How…? He hadn’t been a figment of my imagination. I know a demon when I see one, and the thing that had just enslaved my senses definitely qualified. But the wardings had to have been broken in order for him to enter the condo and my mind. It was immutable law. I climbed onto a chair and touched the faint outlines on the ceiling. My hands trembled. The etchings and designs emanated more power than I’d ever experienced before—and they weren’t the ones Valerie had created.

I shoved some books aside to read the radio clock on my desk. 4:34 a.m. Still really early.

But hell, this was important.

Snapping my cell phone open, I speed-dialed Valerie’s home number. She picked up after the fifth ring.

“Hello?” came her voice, low and drunk with sleep.

“Valerie, sorry I woke you up, but it’s urgent.”

I could hear a querulous masculine murmur in the background. “Ashera? What the—I thought you were going to get some rest before tomorrow. Or is it today?” She punctuated the last sentence with a yawn.

“Someone broke your wardings and invaded my dream. You need to come see this before we go to TriMedica tomorrow.” I raked my hair. “Today. Whatever.”

“Ex
cuse
me?” She sounded more awake now. “No one breaks my wardings.”

“Well, someone did. And he redrew them before leaving.
And
the wardings are more powerful than before.”

Silence. The masculine voice muttered something, but Valerie instantly shushed him.

“You’re serious? Not just still mad about the client test thing?”

“I wish.”

“Okay. Sit tight and don’t let anyone or anything inside until I get there.”

She hung up without waiting for my response.

Valerie lived in Arlington. It should take her at least half an hour to get to my place, and the new wardings looked strong enough to hold off an entire battalion of demons.

Pulling my shirt over my head, I walked to the bathroom and tossed my clothes into the laundry basket. I wanted to erase every sign of
his
invasion from my body before Valerie arrived. It was disconcerting how my crotch was still slick and the need still lingered and burned low in my stomach.

An extra-cold shower was just the thing to get rid of all that. Once my body was clean and dry, I grabbed a new set of black Under Armour. No need to worry about color coordination—everything I owned was either black or blue. Well…I did have two pastel-pink silk skirts, but they didn’t count since they were birthday presents from Valerie. She insisted I ought to do something to “display my assets,” har har. She meant well, but I didn’t exactly embody womanly appeal the way she did, and I looked ridiculous in anything even remotely feminine. But a girl can run her hand over luxurious material and sigh.

The doorbell chimed.

Valerie was ten minutes earlier than I’d expected. Looking at her angelic face, you would never know that she was a speed demon and a terror on the road. Fortunately for her—and unfortunately for the rest of us—she always charmed the cops’ socks off and wiggled out of getting ticketed. Just once, I wished she’d get pulled over by a cop who was immune to her allure.

A fresh periwinkle Armani skirt suit was draped over her lean figure. And when had she had time to put on makeup? Maybe she slept with makeup on. Maybe she was born made up.

“So where is it?” she asked, walking inside. The only thing that betrayed her agitation was her hair. The chignon, which normally looked lovely, was coiled tight and gave her face a slightly harsher cast. I could smell a whiff of her signature floral and vanilla perfume as she moved. High-heeled, open-toe sandals elongated her legs, although they would be completely useless if there was an attack. I guess that’s why she has me.

“This way.”

I led her to the room in question. She glanced around the hall, checking all her wardings.

“These all held,” I said. I jerked my chin toward the study. “In there.”

Valerie’s eyes sharpened. She swore softly under her breath.

I shouldn’t have enjoyed Valerie’s irritation, but after what she’d done I couldn’t help it. Besides, it wasn’t every day you saw her be anything but poised and mildly pleasant.

She stepped through my clutter and examined the new wardings. They blended with hers seamlessly, but the magic signature was different. Her fingertips traced the intricate lines. They sparkled and responded to her touch but didn’t bend to her will.

“I don’t get it,” she said after a moment of examining them. “Who was it?”

“An incubus, or some other demon with incubus power.” Only incubi have the ability to invade dreams, although some demons can borrow it at an exorbitant price: a favor owed or worse.

She looked perplexed. “He came into your dream?”

“Yeah.”

“How? Did you invite him?”

“Of course not.”

“So how did it happen? Did he get some of your hair?”

“No. I burn all my loose hair. Shit, Valerie, you know better. I don’t even go to hair salons.”

“So what then? Fingernail clippings? Toenails?”

“I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears apprentice.”

Her gaze lingered over the frizzy ends of my hair and my stubby unpainted nails before returning to the wardings in the room. “Weird. It’s against everything we know about the laws of magic.”

“You think?” I realized I was pacing and stopped.

“Did he take Sex from you?” She looked at me hard then shook her head. “Never mind. You’re positively brimming with it. What happened?”

“Nothing. He didn’t try anything.”

That wasn’t entirely true. But he hadn’t extracted Sex from me or tried to kill me. Just the opposite, in fact, which was…strange. I didn’t want to dwell on that though, not until we’d figured out how he’d broken the wardings. Plus, Valerie didn’t need to know the details. It was totally embarrassing to be seduced by something I hunted for a living and the memory made me flush hot. I flicked away an invisible piece of lint on my shirt.

“Then why invade your dream?” She tapped her lower lip. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. I can’t figure it out either.”

Valerie leaned against my desk and crossed her arms. “Maybe it’s a warning from Semangelaf.”

“Maybe. Do you recognize the magic signature on the ceiling?”

“No. Do you?”

I shook my head. “Can you tell me anything about it?”

Valerie gazed up at it, going into lecture mode. “The warding is dense, arcane, and contains an unbelievable concentration of power. I’ve seen similar ones in texts before, but they were just theoretical constructs. No human has enough power to even attempt something like this.” She shrugged. “It could be a new kind of demon we’ve never encountered before. Or it could be an agent of the dragonlord, or something else.” She looked at me.
Else
usually means
worse.

I sighed. “I need some coffee. You?”

She nodded.

I left her in the study and went to the kitchen. I could see why she was worried. She liked money, but she also valued the safety of everyone who worked for the firm. It was one of the many reasons I loved her. A lot of things came easily for her—beauty, men, money, magical ability—and she could’ve been a complete bitch. But she was more human than almost anyone I knew.

Okay, except when she looked so damn perfect at five in the morning.

I stopped in the middle of opening the cabinet and swore. I’d drunk the last bit of coffee. What was the closest substitute? Coke, of course. Fortunately, the fridge had two cans. Other than that there was nothing edible. The last chunk of cheese was developing a nice green mold. I couldn’t remember why I’d bought it, since I rarely cook. Even though the Food Network was my second favorite thing to watch, none of the recipes came out right when I tried them. I tossed the cheese in the trash and took the drinks to the study.

Valerie sat behind my desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper. She barely noticed the can I placed next to it. I took a swallow of mine. It bit my nose and throat as it slid down.

“I think I figured it out,” she said finally, leaning back in the chair. Then she frowned. “I thought you were making coffee.”

“Sorry. I’m out.”

“This stuff’s going to stick to your hips.”

What, not drinking soda was the secret to her perfect figure? I glared at the can, then shrugged. “I’ll work it off.”

Valerie pursed her lips, but popped the tab and took a sip. “The designs are not exact duplicates of mine.”

“Okay.” I already knew that.

“If whoever did this wanted to fool you into thinking that the wardings were intact, it’d make sense to leave them with the same design, right? But no. So I diagrammed the new parts.”

Wardings are complicated. Each line and symbol means something, and everything is layered. Although individual warding practitioners have their own unique designs, the designs themselves have a lot of commonalities. They have to, in order to be effective. It’s sort of like a language. The basic sounds have to be the same to convey a meaning, but everyone has an individual accent and way of putting things. By diagramming a warding, you can tell a lot about what kind of supernatural it’s supposed to keep out.

“Look at this.” She used her pen to point at a circular snake with an eye inside. “It’s a wyrm ward. An immensely strong one that would take at least twenty warding specialists.”

Which meant it was only theoretically possible. Cooperation among hunters and supernatural experts isn’t unheard of. But put twenty supersized egos together and see if you can get them to agree on an exact warding design and the kind of magic signature to use and how much power to imbue it with.

That was why the firm sent out
small
teams for warding jobs, no more than five each. And those had generally worked together for years.

Valerie tapped the pen on other parts of the design. “All of these have different dragon wardings on them, in addition to the supernaturals I originally warded against.”

“Why dragons?” I traced the sketches on the cool paper with an index finger. “They never attack human homes.” It was part of the long-ago treaty signed between dragonlords and mortals. As far as we knew, it was still in effect.

“Exactly.” She peered at me, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Have you formed an alliance with some benevolent supernatural?”

Benevolent supernatural. What an oxymoron.

“No.” I dumped some books off the desk so I could perch on it and tried to think. “Can these wardings turn into something else that can be used for black magic?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything like them before.” She shook her head. “Look, let me replace the old wardings.” That made sense. Even though the new ones were more powerful, leaving them would be like having someone break into your home and then keeping the new locks he’d installed.

“And then maybe you should stay home today,” she continued. “Or just go to the office, whichever makes you feel safer. I’ll send someone else to lead the team on the Andersen job.”

“No.” Something wasn’t right, and I couldn’t help but think that I was missing a bigger picture. Call it professional pride. Call it curiosity. I wanted to be there myself.

The TriMedica building stood tall near the I-66 exit in Arlington. Slender and cylindrical, it looked like a stack of enormous gold coins. Ostentatious cars of European origin sparkled in the parking lot. Private security had quarantined the premises to keep dragon groupies out. If traffic was any indication, the metropolitan-area population had doubled overnight.

At the entrance I showed my ID to a uniformed guard who bore a striking resemblance to a Doberman. He checked his list and waved me through.

Andersen and Co. were already at the “Command Center,” which was an office on the first floor of the main building. Yes, someone had actually put up a hand-lettered sign that said “Command Center” on the door. Despite the early hour, the place sizzled with anticipation and caffeinated energy. Valerie had already warded the sparsely decorated room. She was hunched over a pile of papers and talking on her cell phone, but glanced up at me as I walked in.

On the other side of the office, four men and women in black suits sat at small desks with their laptops. Andersen scowled in greeting. I wanted to ask him how he’d slept, but Valerie was coming and she frowns on baiting the clientele.

“Hey,” she said. “Take this before you have coffee.”

I stared at the bottle of high quality Sex. “Ew.”

“No whining. Everyone from the firm gets it.”

“Uh…I don’t really need it.” I already had more than enough, thanks to “Ramiel.” The memory of what he’d done without even touching me made my skin hot and tight.
Oh you have it bad, Ashera. You’re in trouble.
My sympathy for my incubus clients had suddenly increased exponentially. Incubus sex was like crack.

“Yes, you do. People are watching. Lead by example.”

Sure enough, the hunters’ gazes had zoomed in on our little exchange. “Ah hell.” I took the bottle and swigged it, taking care not to gag or make a face. Sometimes being a partner sucked. A lot.

The bitter liquid went down my throat and hit me like a truckload of caffeine. My hands started trembling. I’d never had this much Sex in me before, and I felt like people could see it leaking from my pores. Kind of embarrassing.

I wasn’t the only twitchy one. Several of Andersen’s buddies looked wired tight enough to snap. Nobody likes to deal with an unknown, and they had to cope with two: a dragonlord and outside consultants. The CEO himself, Bill Swain, probably wasn’t worried about supernaturals. They rarely attacked high-profile figures, types that might draw attention. Under current law, hunters couldn’t kill supernaturals without witnessing them violate someone first. But if all the legal restrictions were lifted, a lot of low- to midgrade demons would suffer. So supernaturals generally self-policed. It was the rogue demons that I had to deal with.

Dragonlords, however, were another matter. No mortal could hope to hunt one, legal issues aside. I hoped Swain knew that.

I gravitated toward the breakfast table, selected a warm glazed donut from a platter and chomped into it. So good. Nothing like pure sugar and trans fat to get a girl going in the morning.

“You ready?” Andersen looked exactly the way he had the night before. He might have been old, but he seemed tough enough.

I shrugged. “Does it matter? You can’t ask Semangelaf to postpone his visit.”

He scowled again. He was probably scowling when he popped out of his mother.

“So what time is he going to show up?” I said.

Right on cue, a woman announced from her desk, “He’s here.”

Great.
Andersen swore and joined a few men at the woman’s station. I opted to finish my donut. I hadn’t brought my hunting gear, which would have been useless against a demigod. Instead I recited the words of
draco perditio
silently. I had no idea if I could actually make the spell work, but what else was there?

The firm’s hunters came to me for their instructions. All of them were young. All of them were smart and in shape. And although they were hiding it well, all of them were scared. Correction—almost all of them were hiding it well. There was a foot tapping ninety beats a minute in my peripheral vision.

It was Blake, one of our most junior hunters. I gave him The Stare, but he didn’t get the hint. Finally, the woman next to him put an elbow into his ribs. Blake started, looked at her, then me. The foot was still going, and I glared at it. The foot stopped, and Blake turned red.

Finally satisfied, I began my spiel, “We’re dealing with a dragonlord here. It’s not a matter of fighting. If we fight, we’ll lose. Our job is to make sure Mr. Swain and the rest of the TriMedica staff remain safe. So don’t do anything stupid, be respectful, and above all keep your mouths shut. Don’t give Semangelaf a reason to decapitate you.” I looked around. That last sentence had gotten their attention pretty well.

All of us went outside to greet the dragonlord. The morning dew on the perfectly manicured lawn dampened the hem of my pants. The scent of rich soil mixed with smog.

A lone dragonlord stood on his amphitere, a legless twin-winged dragon that hovered in the air. He held on to a leash, although perhaps “leash” wasn’t exactly the right term. It looked more like a strap to keep him from falling off his mount. It seemed superfluous, somehow. The man—well, the demigod—radiated a presence that made it impossible to imagine him falling.

The morning sun cast harsh light into the golden orange sky. With each stroke of the amphitere’s wings, gusts of air blasted against us.

Whatever I had been expecting, this really wasn’t it. Where were the other dragons? The entourage? The fireworks?

As we walked toward him, the amphitere coiled its tail and settled onto the ground. Semangelaf jumped down lightly.

Long blue hair flowed from his scalp like a turquoise waterfall. His skin was so pale I couldn’t tell where it ended and his white robe began. He had bottomless silver eyes with pinprick pupils that took in everything at a glance. Patches of frost suddenly covered the grass where he stepped, and the temperature seemed to drop about fifty degrees. My teeth wanted to chatter, and I wasn’t the only one feeling the cold.

For all the frigidity, the supernatural had a stark beauty that was simply breathtaking. Even if his coloring had been normal, in his bearing, his perfection, no one would ever mistake him for human.

Bill Swain walked briskly toward us from the other side of the lawn, an air of money and pedigree accompanying him like a pure-blooded French poodle. He looked exceptionally good for his age. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve pegged him for a man in his early forties, almost two decades below his true age. I guess being the CEO of one of the premier pharmaceutical companies in the world had its benefits.

A group of men in black sunglasses and earphones surrounded him as though he were a head of state. Swain stepped forward with a smile. “Welcome to TriMedica.”

Semangelaf nodded once.

Another tall figure suddenly appeared. One moment there was nothing, and in the next he was standing next to Semangelaf. With stark-white skin and the breeze toying with his long black hair and cloak, it looked as if his head was levitating in a black miasma. His mouth was beautifully sculpted, but remained a flat line. It was a mouth that hadn’t smiled for a long time.

Boredom clouded nuclear-blue eyes. If it weren’t for the ancient and powerful aura about him, he would’ve looked as uninterested as a statue.

Andersen stiffened beside me.

“Ah…I wasn’t expecting anyone else…” Swain’s smile didn’t waver, but he couldn’t hide the faint tremor in his voice.

“You should thank me,” the newcomer said tonelessly. “I just did you a favor.”

My blood ran cold at that. A favor must be repaid…unless it wasn’t asked for in the first place. I leaned over to Andersen. “Has Swain—”

Before I could finish my question, a series of waves rippled through the ground. I’d experienced something similar once on the west coast. I almost lost my footing.

“What a waste of my time!” came a loud, petulant voice.

There was a whoosh of air and another dragonlord landed next to Semangelaf. This one didn’t have an amphitere to fly in on. He executed a perfect two-point landing under his own power—a pair of gigantic golden-red wings sprouting from his back. As he touched ground, they started folding until they became tiny and disappeared under his skin. Totally cool and completely new to me—I hadn’t known dragonlords could grow wings like that. But this wasn’t the time to admire them. One dragonlord would have been problem enough. Now it looked as though we were going to have to deal with three.

Semangelaf glanced to his side. “Apollyon?”

This newest addition looked young—twelve or so. He was childhood delights made flesh, all fluffy cotton candy and bubbling laughter. Unlike the other two, he was short, maybe under five feet, and had neatly trimmed platinum hair that barely reached his neck. He scanned us with wide tri-ringed eyes of gold, silver and ruby, and I knew he was centuries old. Boys don’t have eyes like those: ancient and all-knowing.

“GenEvo Labs. They lied to me.” He snapped his fingers and his face lit into an enormous smile. “Boom!”

Apollyon’s explanation sounded a little odd. Dragonlords were known to be capricious, but it was ludicrous to believe that he’d blown up an entire company for lying to him, unless the lie had been something enormous. Despite my warnings to Andersen the day before, I couldn’t imagine what they could’ve said to offend him that much.

If those two were Semangelaf and Apollyon, the other one had to be the third member of the Triumvirate of Madainsair—Nathanael, the one who’d destroyed the slayers. He didn’t fit the fearsome warrior demigod image I had in my mind.

“And the cripple?” Semangelaf asked.

“Nowhere to be found.” The corners of Apollyon’s cherry lips turned downward, but there was a glint in his eye that made me shiver.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” I whispered to Andersen. This was so not what I’d signed up for.

He looked somewhat at a loss. “Those two weren’t supposed to be here.”

Maybe we could ask them to leave.

Swain had recovered his aplomb and was shaking hands and posturing about, calling them honored guests and so on. It looked like their leaving wasn’t going to be an option.

So we had three demigods instead of one. Semangelaf, Nathanael, Apollyon—all names of ancient angels. Interesting. But of course none of the names were real. Every member of the Triumvirate of Madainsair was flawlessly beautiful, divine in his presence and aura. But it wasn’t a beauty that would stir a poet’s soul. It was a beauty that terrified.

Something about Semangelaf’s and Nathanael’s appearance tickled me mentally, and I realized that they reminded me of Ramiel, post-hunt trespasser and dream invader. But to conclude that he was a dragonlord seemed preposterous. For one thing, I couldn’t imagine what would prompt a being that was the equivalent of an emperor to personally appear at one of my hunts. For another, dragonlords aren’t incubi, and only incubi can invade a person’s dream. The idea that one would agree to owe an incubus a favor just to come mess with me…well, it was ridiculous. I might be a good hunter—okay, a great one—but I wasn’t
that
important in the grand scheme of things.

Maybe it had been an incubus disguised as a dragonlord. I didn’t actually know if they could do that, but it seemed to be the most plausible explanation at the moment. I made a mental note to research the matter.

Andersen took a step closer to the dragonlords, hands held out in what I’m sure was supposed to be a sign of reassurance. “Your, uh, lordships, before we go any further, we just need to make sure there’s nothing dangerous.” Thankfully, Swain moved back with his entourage.

“Do you believe we bear ill will toward our…hosts?” Semangelaf’s voice was as cold as the rest of him, as sere as an arctic landscape.

“It’s just our procedure.”

Semangelaf spread his hands, mimicking Andersen’s gesture. “As you can see, we are without our swords. Though we still have magic, of course.”

Andersen’s chin came up slightly. “I should tell you that we’re warded against it.”

Apollyon laughed. The sound radiated so much power, the air around us rippled. I shuddered, and Valerie and other staffers from the firm swayed on their feet, drunk from the magic. It sizzled, and even Andersen and Co. looked affected.

I leaned in close to Andersen and muttered, “Let them come.”

“But we need to secure—”

“You felt what just happened, didn’t you?”

His eyes answered my question.

“That was just a fraction of their power. If they want, they can destroy us all without even blinking. Choose your battles, know what I mean?”

“It’s my job to make sure that—”

I sighed. “Ask them to make an oath not to hurt anyone during their visit.”

He gazed at me for a moment, then turned to Semangelaf. “Swear that you won’t hurt anyone during the visit.”

It was Nathanael who spoke. “We so vow. You mortals are safe.”

Andersen scowled, but their promise was good as far as I was concerned. Magic has restrictions. One is that magic wielders must keep their word or lose some of their power.

I lowered my voice. “What does Swain want with them?”

Andersen’s expression was naturally tight. Now it looked like someone had bolted it to his face. “That’s classified.”

“I
need to know.”

He hesitated and said, “He’s going to ask for a dragon.”

“Why?”

“To learn the secrets of their longevity.”

I could’ve told Swain the answer: magic. But he undoubtedly wanted something he could pump out of factories, and you can’t mass-produce powerful magic.

Of course people tried. Medicinal mages made good money working for big pharmaceuticals. They couldn’t heal, but could imbue drugs with magical properties. TriMedica had a lab full of such mages a couple of miles away from the main buildings.

“What does the triumvirate want?” I said.

“We don’t know yet.”

I shook my head. “Best to find out. But you know you’ll never be able to strike a winning bargain with them.”