Demon Lord 3: Blue Star Priestess (2 page)

Wow,
I really did get a boost from eating his death-magic. 

On the way to deliver my trophy, I
noticed the mountain giant had recently cut across the path, leaving tracks.  Curious, I dropped the creature and followed the signs into the woods.  The tracks led me to a cave where he’d left his scent.  As a precaution, I drew one Beretta PX4 Storm, leaving her twin holstered.  Lingering at the cave’s mouth, I let my heightened senses pry ahead of me.   There were tracks of only one giant, and slithery marks that showed god-awful-big serpents had also visited this site.  

Giants and serpents—together—what the dry-humping hell is going on here? 

Another type of track stood out: large, female prints—demon?  I activated my
Dragon Sight
tattoo and saw a blue-green glow to the woman’s tracks.  The aura left behind here had a similar feel to the Old Man’s.   The energy felt sea-based; very strong magic. 

Father
claims to be the last Atlantean demon.   Apparently, that isn’t so.

I doubted anyone was still inside the cave, but just in case…  I felt a stabbing sensation on my forearm as my
Dragon Fire
tattoo woke up.  Flames wreathed my arm as if it were on fire.  This would give me light to shoot by as well as fire to throw.  I went in and came to a large chamber.  There were several jars scattered around.  They held trapped will-of-the-wisps.  The mountain giant had found a convenient source of lighting for his little bunker.  The over-grown fireflies’ mental voices made a rapid-fire barrage:
Free us!  Free us!  Free us!

I grinned.  “Nothing’s free.  What are you willing to pay?”

The will-of-the-wisps fell silent, pissed by my response.  Finally one asked:
What do you want?

“One year of service from each of you, offered consecutively.”

They pulsed messages back and forth, and settled into the dimmer frequencies of resignation. 
Very well, we have no choice but to agree.

“You have a choice.  You can stay trapped until someone else comes along.  Of course, that could be a very long time, and they might want more than a year at a time.  I think my offer is very generous.”

Ordinary jars couldn’t have contained them.  These were sealed by spell.  I went to each and let my raw dragon magic soak up the containing magic.  The will-of-the-wisps flew through the glass jars, swarming briefly before all but one left.  This one glowed teal green, bobbing in the air, awaiting orders.  He followed as I examined the lair.  Serpents had been here, but the cave was set up for a giant’s comfort with animal hides strewn about.  I noticed a flat rock stained with human and fey blood, a faint residue of salt water, and … p
erfume?

By the fur bed I found a leather satchel.  Inside were more scrolls like the one the giant had worn.  One scroll was different, smaller and white.  With a thought, I shut down my
Dragon Fire
tattoo.  I put my gun away and picked up the small white scroll.  I rolled it open.  The writing was in Latin, a language common to magic users.  At the bottom of the scroll I found a seal, a blob of blue wax bearing the inset of a signet ring.  The words on the seal were older than Rome, an ancient, dead language I couldn’t read.  The design itself was composed of a beaked squid surrounded by its own curl-tipped tentacles: a big circle made of smaller circles with ugliness in the middle.

The kraken’s an Atlantean house seal.  Crap, the Old Man’s going to shit a cow over this.

I tucked the scroll in my shirt and walked over to the altar.  A six-inch god statue sat on it.  The image had a female torso and a snake body from the waist down.  Her face was stuck between human and snake.  The naga had six arms.  The right middle arm held a spear.  The bottom left arm held a shield.  Like humans, most naga only have two arms.  They’re big, strong, and violent—but not violent enough.  The giant had seized the cave away from them, leaving the snakes to twist in the wind.

The carving was pure jade.  I picked up the little statue and put it inside the satchel.  My withdrawing hand brushed the closing buckle.  A blue jag of static shocked me.  More of a surprise: all the small rocks on the cave floor trembled and floated into the air.  A thin, rippling skin of water ran down the cave walls around me.  I smelled burnt oxygen, the scent of ozone, mixing with ocean water. 

A cold tingle slithered down my back as I sensed the cause of all this: a stirring aura embedded in the cavern walls—Atlantean magic, but not Old Man’s.  His power slashed cleanly, scalpel sharp.  This felt more like a coked-out hooker doing brain surgery with a spork.

A splat of water dropped on me from the ceiling. 

The will-of-the-wisp said:
Something bad is about to happen!
 

“That’s why we’re
hauling ass.”  My spell for
Vampiric Speed
activated with a wave of power swelling my leg muscles.
 
This spell didn’t cause immediate pain; I’d pay that price in exactly one hour when crippling cramps would set in with a vengeance.  For now, I exploded out of the way of a very concentrated waterfall from the cave roof.  Several geysers burst up near my feet.  Rocks blasted out of the walls and ceiling, trying to pick me off.  Blue lightning raggedly stitched the air, forming tribal runes. 

I didn’t stay to read them, hurtling as fast as I could go.  One step outside, I caught a swat of lightning from behind.  My
Vampire Speed
tattoo made me fast, but lightning’s faster.  Like Peter Pan high on fairy dust, I was lifted off my feet and sent crashing into a tree.  Luckily, the dragon half of my DNA had raised my endurance and toughness for such punishment.  A full human would have been broken and killed.  I just hurt.  A lot. 

Picking myself up, I looked back at the cave mouth and found it choked with fallen rock.  The Atlantean spell had buried a lot of evidence, but I’d kept a death-grip on the satchel so things didn’t completely suck.  Returning to the path, I grabbed the giant’s body.  Near an armpit, there was a white-scar brand I’d overlooked earlier.  The mark matched the seal on the white scroll, and resembled some of the mystical markings on Old Man’s skin. 

He’s definitely got some explaining to do.  Last Atlantean demon, my ass!

T
WO

“Dealing with idiots is like banging a bog

beast; it sucks long before you’re done.”

—
Caine Deathwalker

Smelling even more like the dead giant, I drove my ‘96 Mustang home. The car wasn’t new, but possessed a hundred grand worth of high-tech gear under the hood and fifty grand in detailing to make one hell of a ride. Magic augmented the tech to enhance performance. I cruised through Malibu, up to my seaside mansion, and pulled into the garage, parking between my ‘65 Mustang—a work in progress—and the limo Osamu, my combat butler, drove. Before getting out, I transferred the mountain giant’s scroll to the satchel, putting it with the Atlantean document.
Two mysteries to solve.
I left the vehicle, slamming the door behind me.

Before the garage door closed, Osamu opened the inner door to the house, waiting on the threshold with a tall, cold drink on a silver tray for me. The drink was electric blue with no umbrella. “Caine-sama, I hope all went well.”

I crossed to him, hand extended to take the drink. “I earned the bonus. Was it dropped off?”

“Yes, Caine-sama, it’s in the office.”

I grabbed the drink and handed Osamu the satchel. As I let go, he almost let it hit the ground. Bent over, his grunt of surprise reminded me I’d gotten much stronger and should be more careful with others. He recovered his composure—and upright posture—and carried the satchel into the kitchen with a strained smile. “Heavy,” he grunted.

I kept the white scroll with me as well as the one I’d taken off the giant’s body. I wanted to find out what the Atlantean seal meant. Yeah, my contract was over, the giant was dead, but whoever hit me with that last nasty piece of magic was still around, a likely threat. Maybe someone would pop up, willing to pay me to kill my mystery assailant. If so, it would be good to have a heads-up on what I’d be
fighting and how much I should charge.

Having stashed the satchel, Osamu caught up to me. “Caine-sama, your father is also in the office.”

“Got it, thanks.”

During the Night of the Red Moon last year, Osamu had proved himself a true warrior, but would have died had I not saved him. Impressed with his composure under attack, I ended up stealing him from his last employer when the dust settled. I was increasingly glad I had; he wasn’t just a kick-ass, demon-sword wielding combat butler, he was one hell of a major domo, too.

I went to my room to get cleaned up. I’d probably have to burn the clothes I was wearing. It often sucked that my sense of smell had evolved since my dragon-half awoke. I went through the kitchen into the corner of the living room that opened into the back hallway. I went down the hall toward my room near the end. The actual end of the hall used to be a dead end. Now a magical door was there. Only I was supposed to be able to open it. The door didn’t lead to the backyard, or anywhere on the property. This was my personal access to the kingdom I’d claimed in the land of Fairy.

I stopped short of the magical door, turning into my room. It was just as I’d left it. None of my girlfriends had been over to pick up the place, snoop around, or ambush me for sex. That last was disappointing. I could also have used someone to wash my back. I passed the bed, catching a brief glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror: I was small for a human-dragon mix, an easy, disarming grin in place. My mirror–self looked young, early twenties, but I was actually thirty-one. My body had simply stopped aging on
e day thanks to my mother’s dragon blood in me. Really, a lot of the clues to what I was had been staring me in the face for years. I couldn’t understand why it had taken me so long to piece things together.

I shed my weapons on the bed, knowing I’d have to clean the leather holsters and weapons before putting them on again. That was all right. I had some new toys I wanted to break in anyway. In the master bath, I stripped out of my battle damaged clothes and left them piled on the tiles.

While the dwarf workmen had been installing my hallway magic door, I’d had them add an extra-dimensional pocket to my shower stall with the money I made on my last big job. Outside, it was the same size. Inside, the shower was the prelude to paradise. Through a short tunnel lay the mother of all hot tubs—big enough to host an orgy, and it had upon occasion. But not with Vivian attending. She preferred things one-on-one, which was why it didn’t make sense for her and three were-kitties to all be here.

Not yet seeing me, naked tabbies frolicked, shrieking in delight, playfully splashing water as they jiggled and flounced in a most distracting manner. Mostly human in their transformed states, the woman displayed bare, sleek skin, fuzzy cat tails, and pointy ears on top of their heads. I knew upon closer examination, their pupils would be vertical slashes across their irises. Though frail to look at, I knew any of the girls could lift five times her weight.

What I didn’t know was if sleeping with them constituted full or partial bestiality. The thought sometimes kept me up at night—and hard, in a good way. Speaking of which, I felt my manhood come to rigid attention, as if saying:
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go…!

Off to the side, isolated movement drew my attention to a rounded corner of the vast tub. Vivian’s pink-lit eyes betrayed both her annoyance at the extra company and her dhampyr nature: half human, half vamp. I think she’d wanted to surprise me with her naked flesh, but her ambush had been hijacked by others with the same idea. Leaning forward, almost submerged,

Vivian sulked, blowing bubbles in the already frothy water.

I wondered where the rest of my regulars were. Angie—a hot lawyer and a member of the werewolf pack next door—kept rather busy. Izumi, another neighbor, was another matter. I was kind of glad she wasn’t here. As an ice fey—masquerading as a Japanese snow-woman to hide from her own kind—she’d have made the hot pool into an ice skating rink in the throes of ecstasy. She was proof that sex could be heaven and hell all at once. There were times with her I’d stayed rock-hard for hours on end, my manhood sheathed in ice so it could never fail her. Without magic to keep my blood thawed and my body from turning to ice, she’d have been the death of me long ago.

I soaped up and rinsed off, but could still smell dead giant on me. There was no way out of it; a long soak in hot water was going to be my saving grace. I moved on from the shower to the edge of the pool. A glass ceiling overhead allowed the light of three half-moons to illuminate the chamber. Blue lights on the bottom of the pool made the water glow from the inside out. I grabbed a handrail and walked down a short flight of steps until I was half submerged.

Vivian saw me first. I had a brief impression of her startled face before she dived and streaked toward me like a torpedo, her raven black hair covering her submerged back. Arcing upward, she burst from the water, riding her inertia into the air. Braced, I took her weight as she wrapped eager arms around my neck, and powerful thighs around my waist. Her wet breasts flattened against my chest as she mashed her lips to mine.

A loud series of squeals told me the self-absorbed were-kitties had caught on to my presence as well.

Vivian pulled back from the kiss. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “What the hell have you been killing, Elder Gods?”

“Not this week.”

A wave of were-kitties caught us and we all went under.

Much later, much cleaner—my hard-on appeased—I stood in my room and dressed.

Circling the bed, I reached the long mirror and traced a pattern connecting some of the runes carved into the frame, releasing stored magic. The glass shimmered soft gold and became permeable. I stepped through into my basement workshop and armory. I left the holstered guns there. Osamu would find and clean them without me saying a word.

I picked out replacements that didn’t smell like a dead mountain giant. I strapped on a new leather harness and filled the holsters with twin PPKs, and walked to the private elevator. It carried me up to the ground floor.

I emerged in my private office. This area of the room could have been magically plucked from a nightclub somewhere and deposited here. Indirect lighting made brilliant, multi-colored beacons out of the many bottles of liquor on the shelves. There was a wooden bar and beyond, a line of stools for guests—if anyone had enough trust to sample a drink I’d made. I knew my poisons, but I preferred to kill with a sword or gun.

The Old Man preferred I didn’t get blood on the carpets, even though they were
my
carpet. He also had a rule against murdering guests. Sometimes the Old Man could be a pain. Seeing him, an ordinary—and usually clueless—human would have fled. The ancient Atlantean demon had powder-blue skin with nautical themed scars and tattoos all over his body. Seven feet tall, looking like Mr. Universe on the best-ever steroids, Old Man seldom had to argue to get his way.

He sat across the room in a recliner, down by the outside windows, watching the news on a huge plasma screen TV. As I walked over, I saw the flicker of a
black tail from the couch under the TV, and knew Leona was keeping him company. The spirit leopard sat up on the couch and stared through me with glowing, yellow-flame eyes. She shook her whiskered head in sad disapproval. “You smell like a trunk of dead hookers.”

I gestured with a middle finger, like I didn’t care.

The black leopard rolled her eyes and slumped bonelessly back down on the couch. She’d shown up one day, years ago, and had never left, taking a liking to my booze and me. Sometimes, she’d help me with a contract to even things out, but those were jobs where a lot of blood was likely. Since that was the only thing giving her nourishment, it was really in her own best interest. She does occasionally eat human food, but only for taste. We often started our day together in the kitchen over steaming cups. She loves the smell of my nuclear-grade Brazilian coffee. Though a dedicated alcoholic, I had an urge for some of my coffee right then.

Old Man pointed at a small wood chest on the coffee table at his feet. “Your bonus.”

I stopped by the table, staring down at the wood chest.

The Old Man said, “We also have to talk about the clan gathering.”

Leona stared, waiting for me to snap. I could smell her excitement at the possibility of a fight breaking out. For weeks now, the Old Man had been on my case, bending my ear about establishing more of a presence at the clan house. That didn’t interest me. I felt no need to prove anything to my inferiors. I grabbed the small wood chest and held it under my arm. “Old Man, are we going to throw down over this again?”

“We have to,
Son. It’s time. Messages have gone out. Members of the clan have been arriving in the city all day. The clan house is filling. There are required ceremonies for you to be officially declared my heir.”

“When the time comes, I’ll just kill everyone that gives me trouble. Old traditions need to give way to the new.”

Leona stage-whispered to the Old Man. “Just shoot him now, before he breaks your heart, or embarrasses you.”

I glared at her.
“How about I shoot you?”
Such an instigator.

I shifted my gaze to the Old Man. “How many members are out on the island?”

“Nearly five hundred knights. I want you there. You’re outside the usual command structure, answering to neither my First Sword, nor the Consignor. I need you to show some interest in the family business and be seen as more than a free-loading beach bum.”

“That’s not going to help, Old Man. The clan elders want me dead and you know why.”

“Your charming personality?” Leona ventured.

“I’m adopted. I haven’t a drop of true demon blood in me. Traditionalists believe only a demon ought to lead a demon clan.”

The Old Man’s eyes narrowed. His voice went deeper, colder, “It is my clan, forged by my strength, my blood, my will. What I have created I can also destroy. No one will defy me on this.” Abruptly, he smiled. “You just have to let them get used to you in command situations. They’ll come around.”

“I have other business as head of the clan’s Intelligence and Security branch. There are important matters that need my attention.”

“Delegate,” the Old Man said. “Izumi or Angie can handle complex jobs. You can use the tabbies to run minor errands, and Vivian can be your eyes and ears on the street. You need to be developing administrative skills for the empire I am handing you.”

And give up a life of debauchery and bloody carnage? I don’t think so.

“Consider it an order.” The Old Man ended the discussion by picking up the remote and boosting the sound on the TV. He returned to watching a cable channel documentary that tried placing ancient Atlantis down in South American waters.

“These people have no clue,” he muttered.

“Speaking of Atlantis,” I said, “How sure are you that you’re the last survivor?”

“I made quite certain of that,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw an old scroll that had a seal. Looked like it might have been Atlantean.”

“Not my personal seal?” the Old Man asked.

“No.”

“I don’t really like to talk about the old days,” he said. “They depress me.”

“But what if—?”

He turned the sound up to a roar to drown me out.

Discussion over
.