Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (14 page)

                                               
—
Caine Deathwalker

Next morning, we took the limo.  Osamu drove with Vivian riding shotgun beside him.  They split a six-pack of diet cherry Pepsi.

The weregirls and I hid out in the back, behind tinted windows.  Speakers drenched us in pulsing rock.  The bar dispensed Coke and Captain Morgan single barrel rum, which I mixed half and half and passed around.  The girls kept a nice buzz going, but their high werecat metabolism burnt off enough of the alcohol to keep them from getting completely bombed. 

With their scanty inhibitions evaporated, their ears migrated to the top of their heads, going pointy and fuzzy.  They removed excess clothing—meaning everything—so their whipping tails were unhindered.  Manfully, I endured their sexual attentions, and allowed all three to have their way with me in various combinations.  I didn’t want to hurt their feelings after all. 

Though very little of them had morphed to cat, I idly pondered whether this constituted bestiality.  Not really coming up with an answer, I shrugged it away, throwing back a drink, enjoying a mild bite followed by a smoked cherry aftertaste. 

Several hours passed.  We made more stops than I wanted so the werekitties—dressed once more—could hit convenience stores, buying snacks, going potty. 

At one stop just off I-5, we hit a Burger Bob for fish sandwiches, chicken nuggets, curly fries, bacon western cheese burgers, and drinks.  Eight hours after starting our trip, we reached downtown
Sacramento, exiting on J Street.  I killed the music and rolled down the windows to take in the sights. 

Osamu rolled down the partition dividing the front seat from the back compartment.  Vivian peered back at us with disgust.  “Smells like a brewery collided with a whorehouse back there.”

Dani giggled.  “Cathouse you mean.”

Cleo pointed at a looming, black glass skyscraper.  “It’s the Darth Vader building!”

I knew that unofficial name and landmark already, but raised an eyebrow, feigning interest.  “Really?  How interesting.”

Cleo dropped her voice to a confidential whisper.  “The dhampyr have offices there, top two floors.”

Something else I knew.

“Drop me there,” Vivian said.  “I’ll see what I can find out.”

“They don’t need to know you’re both a dhampyr and a Slayer,” I said.  “Slayers make everybody nervous.”

“Humans complicate everything,” Cleo said.

Vivian nodded once.  “Understood.”

We rolled by the Darth Vader building, pausing so Vivian could get out.  She walked from the limo without a backward glance, a girl on a mission.

*     *     *

The
house we wanted was in the midtown area, a three story Victorian painted pastel blue, lavender, and pink.  Fronted by six stairs, it had a wraparound porch that hugged the left side of the building.  I stepped out of the limo and tilted my head back to take in the whole thing.  “Who lives here?  The Easter bunny?”

Dani snickered in a delicate, sexy way.  She smiled.  “No, silly, Kathryn Wilde.”

Cleo led the way up the sidewalk and stairs.  The werekitties clumped in front of the door, screening Osamu and me from the peephole in the door.  Dani and Terri knocked in unison as if they’d practiced. 

The door opened.  A pretty woman in her early twenties peered out at us.  Her dark hair was gathered at the nape of her neck.  As if waiting for a kiss, her red mouth pursed while she studied us with raised eyebrows.  She wore jeans slashed at one knee, bleached in spots, and a black tank top.  A slim leather collar adorned her neck.  It had a small tinkling silver bell in front.  Her hand on the door sported aqua blue polish that matched her Siamese cats’ eyes.  Her own eyes were the same color.

Those eyes widened.  A huge smile grew on Katherine’s face.  “Clee!”

“Kat!” 

They lunged together, giving that squeal that is common to girlfriends who haven’t seen each other for awhile.  After a few seconds, Cleo pulled back and waved at her friends.  “You remember Dani and Terri?”

“Sure.”  Kathryn embraced them as well.  No one bothered to introduce Osamu or me.  We just tagged along as the girls were invited inside. 

If the outside of the building was a little too Easter egg, the inside décor made up for it with raw attitude.  There were mismatched chairs—lightly shredded by cat claws—and loveseats that looked like they’d come from thrift stores.  A blue steamer trunk served as a coffee table.  It had cork coasters on it for glasses, and manga magazines for the dedicated anime fan.  A tall, white oscillating fan purred, washing the room with a low-key wind.  A zebra-patterned rug stretched out on the floor in front of an ashy fireplace and its red-painted screen.  A large screen TV dominated the mantle.  The floors were all natural wood, blond and slick with polish.  Acrylic paintings covered the walls.  Someone was very fond of cats.  One giant picture was a close-up, showing a light copper cat’s eye—staring like God at everyone in the room.

Kathryn waved the werekitties toward the furniture.  Her gaze caught Osamu and me, giving us a thorough once-over.  “Who are you guys?”

Terri answered for us both, pointing first at me, “That’s Caine.  He’s one of the big wheels in L.A.”  Her finger moved on.  “And that’s Osamu, his combat butler.”

Kathryn’s stare swung to Osamu.  “Combat butler?”

He shrugged and bowed.  “It is a pleasure, Ma’am.”

Kathryn held up a bare hand.  “It’s Miss.  There’s no ring on this finger.”  She smiled and the room seemed to brighten in response.  “Actually, just call me Kat.  Everyone does.”

I kept my hands in my pockets to project a safer image.  Werecats borrow their response patterns from toms and tabbies.  That means they’re high-strung and easily spooked. Werecats are confident among humans, but careful around other weres: wolves, lion, tigers, and bears, what have you. 

I smiled, going for reassuring and friendly.  “Kat, we’re here to see the liger.”

Her smile lost a little sparkle.  “Why?”  She shoved a palm out to keep me from answering.  Her voice took on a cutting edge as her eyes slitted.  “Wait, Caine … Caine Deathwalker?  The Red Moon demon?”

Dani stroked Kat’s arm soothingly.  “It’s okay, Kat, he’s nothing like the stories.  He keeps an eye out for us.  As demons go, he’s really very nice.”

I glowered at Dani.  “Try not to say that too often, or too loudly, okay?  I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Still standing, crouching a little, Kat balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to leap at the first wrong move I might make.  She looked along her nose at me, sniffing delicately, trying to get a read on my emotions from my scent.  “You’re not a demon.”  Kat eased closer.  “I smell human, but something else just under the surface.”

“He’s not a demon,” Cleo said.  “He was adopted into his clan.”

Shaking her head, Terri batted at her platinum mane with the back of a hand.  “Chill.  We wouldn’t have brought anyone here that was dangerous.  Jeez, give us a little credit.”

Kat looked at the werekitties and relaxed.  “Okay, if you guys vouch for him.”

Cleo broke in, “Uh, Kat.  We’re kinda hungry.  You got any food around here?”

I tilted my head sideways toward Osamu, keeping my gaze on Kat.  “Osamu will give you a hand.  He’s a grandmaster in the kitchen.”

Kat beckoned.  “Come on, Mr. Combat Butler, let’s put you to work.”

He bowed once more.  “Honored to serve.”

“We’ll make a platter of sandwiches and break out some chips.”  Kat sashayed through a wide archway, passing a kitchen table and chairs, and windows with butter yellow curtains.  The back door had matching curtains as well.

I sat on the corner of the steamer trunk, and picked up a magazine from under the manga.  It was a copy of
Inside Gung-Fu
, a martial arts periodical.  The mailing label had a man’s name on it: Joshua Kent.  I now had the name of the liger.  I wondered how much longer it would be before the were himself showed up. 

Cleo picked up a remote control and turned on the TV over the fireplace.  She surfed channels until tripping over the animal channel, and stopped to watch a pride of lions take down some gazelle.  The werekitties grew silent, tensing up, eyes filling with bloodlust as the gazelle were dragged down and mauled.

I decided to help out in the kitchen, before the girls started drooling my way.  Dropping the magazine, I strolled across the room, through the arch.

The
kitchen was nothing like the rest of the house, more twenty-second century, everything shiny steel, pink and black marble, an island range under a tarnished copper hood, and a cherry wood table next to it, over which hung a wire rack where assorted cookware dangled.  Beyond the island, a refrigerator was built into a red brick wall.  To the right of the appliance, double glass doors revealed a well stocked pantry.

I didn’t know what Kat did for a living, but she wasn’t hurting for money.

Just inside the kitchen arch, I leaned on a counter and watched her dig into the fridge.  She’d located various items and tossed them over a shoulder to Osamu at the island table.  He caught them smoothly and lined them up next to a long loaf of French bread.  Soon, lettuce, tomato, condiments, and assorted cheeses were assembled.  Kat joined him at the food prep table, plopping down a rattling bag of mesquite barbeque chips, and a second bag of sour cream and onion.

“We’re going to need a large tray,” Kat muttered, moving off.

One hand on the loaf of bread, Osamu opened various drawers, peering inside.  “I require a sharp knife.”

Cleo and Terri appeared beside me, their hands caressing my back and shoulder.  They pressed up against my arms, purring.  Someone seized my butt and squeezed.  My protective shield didn’t activate so I knew that whatever attack they were engaged in was one we’d all enjoy.  Apparently, bloodshed makes werekitties horny.

Something to keep in mind
.

Kat pulled a humongous butcher’s knife from a sixteen slot, bamboo knife block.  Knife in hand, she hurried back toward Osamu.  “I’ve got just the thing … here?”

Osamu stood poised like a Japanese coon-dog in the headlights, his demon sword gripped by his right hand.   From the look on his face, I thought the blade had come without him calling it.  At least, I hoped he’d not use something like that to make sandwiches.

Osamu spun toward Kat, pulling his hand off the loaf of bread.

She crouched, knife outstretched, a threat.

An earnest tone drenched Osamu’s words, “Ma’am, this is not what you think.  I am still learning how to control the summoning.”

Cleo squealed in my ear, “Oooo, that is so cool.  Do it again!”