Demon Lord 3: Blue Star Priestess (9 page)

“I don’t like that station.” 

My subconscious was still yelling at me.  I wondered if it had anything to do with the Red Lady.  I remembered her hand touching my chest.  Absently, I reached for my necklace chain to pull the red pearl into view.

The red pearl—my link to the ass-saving power of the Red Lady—was gone. 

Friggin’ again!

NINE

“Every wolf knows: if you piss on it, it’s

yours.
  I do it, and everybody freaks out.”

                                      
—
Caine Deathwalker

We’d driven the Volvo convertible twenty-three miles due south of downtown L.A to get here. 
It was Zero-T’s car, so I’d let him drive while I staked out the backseat.  The Shoreline Aquatic Park lay between the Long Beach Arena and the Downtown Shoreline Marina.  The park was a boot-shaped peninsula that kicked at the Pacific where the Los Angeles River emptied into the sea.  The red sun hung low in the western sky.  

Darkness was coming
as we took a shortcut, pulling onto the bike trail.  There were still a few riders using it.  They pulled off, shaking their fists as the Volvo filled their path, demanding right-of-way.  Zero-T smiled at the curses, waving pleasantly as one biker shot him the middle-finger salute. 

“Ah, fresh hate,” Zero-T said.  “See, I give purpose to their tiny, little lives.”

I nodded appreciation.  “Well done.  Of course, I’d have stopped to pistol-whip at least one of them, but I guess Old Man’s waited long enough for me.”

Grassy fields
sprawled inland, and a strip of small boulders edging the sea lay on our seaward side.  It took less than a minute to get to a pier lying less than a hundred feet from the lighthouse on the hill.  The white brick structure had glass on top, caged by a red latticework.  Its sweeping beam of light slashed across the ocean.  We drove onto the pier.  At first the tires made a rhythmic
thunking
sound that became progressively more solid until we stopped at the end.

The summoning circle—left there in
ultraviolet paint—came awake under the car.  A fan of magical blue light theatrically lit the undercarriage.  The soft, spinning vortex of magic tasted us, a cold lick on the skin, seeking demon blood.  Zero-T qualified.  Since I wasn’t demon-born, Old Man had had to key me into the circle on a previous trip long ago.   Zero-T and I passed the spell’s inspection.  The water frothed at the end of the pier.  A polished coral bridge rose out of the ocean, stirring up silt.  The coral extension fitted itself against the pier, giving us a magically summoned road to Santa Catalina Island.

Zero-T
looked at me, then back to the bridge.  “That never gets old.”  It was funny.  Zero-T was starting to pick up my way of speaking, sounding a lot like me.  Maybe I was a corrupting influence. 
No maybe about it.

“Drive already, and try not to fall off.  I’m not in the mood for a swim.” I glowered to emphasize my words.
 

Going way too slowly, the little bitch took his time, taking an hour to drive us only twenty miles. 
The evening sky became deep blue, jeweled with stars.   Ahead, the island had a partially artificial crescent-moon cove that housed residential boats, yachts, and powerboats.  Just beyond the small marina, I saw the lights of Avalon City, housing roughly 4,000 people.  Avalon was mostly a tourist trap with a lot of shopping, restaurants, and hotels with bungalow style accommodations.

Our magic road shot to the right side of the cove, passing Avalon Casino, grounding itself onto one of the beaches.  A demon spell built into the coral road didn’t make it invisible, but did cause observing eyes to be diverted, the memory dimmed to unimportance.  No one ashore would be rushing out to call the tabloids about our arrival.

The road to the Lauphram Clan House was a second demon road.  Those not of the clan would never find it.  They might notice an odd rune carved into a tall rock, but the symbol needed a keyed-in presence to activate.  As the Volvo pulled abreast of the rock, the lines on it seeped sea-blue light.  The watery glow painted our skin.  I felt another lick of magic tasting my DNA, and rough, broken ground smoothed out into a paved road.  Several trees slid sideways from our path, waiting for us to go on before taking their old places again.  We rolled inland, climbing.  Soon, we’d pass the Wrigley Reservoir on the way to the clan house.

As we went, Zero-T had to put more pressure on the gas pedal.  The engine was good, but hadn’t been modified with an
y occult improvements, at least the dash gave no sign of demonic features having been added for extra offensive or defensive capability.  That seemed odd to me.  “This is still fresh from the factory.  No improvements.”

Zero-T sighed.  “It’s not easy paying for upgrades when half of all I make on clan jobs goes to my Captain.  If it weren’t for my day job as a Lapidary…”

Human lapidarists aren’t as socially respected as those of the supernatural communities that work with both stones and magic, fusing them together to shape spell stones.  Zero-T was probably making a lot more money than he was letting on.  Unless his work was crap.  

He
slowed as we passed a single, four-bedroom house on the left.  It was painted white and had a tree-lined drive to the right of even more trees.   Zero-T beetled his brow as he flashed me a glance in the rearview mirror.  “Wait, how could I tell you that?  The First Sword keeps a binding
geas
on us so we can’t talk about the kickbacks.”

“I’m under Old Man’s direct authority as head of the Espionage, Security, and Assassination Branch.  Secrets can’t be kept from me because they can’t be kept from
him
.  The Old Man holds blood-oaths of loyalty from everyone that override lesser magic.  But are you serious?  Fifty percent?  Your Captain’s cut should only be ten percent.”  I pulled out an obsidian flask, took a drink, and leaned forward in the seat.  I handed him the flask, reaching over his shoulder.

There’s nothing like booze to get information flowing.

He guzzled a huge pull off the flask and handed it back as we passed the reservoir on our left.  The human-made dirt road to the reservoir had fresh tire tracks on it.  Someone was hanging out down there, probably drinking themselves blind. 

“Our Captain figures he’s doing us a favor giving us higher paying jobs, so the least we owe him is a finder’s fee for the work.”  Zero-T yanked hard right on the wheel.  A wall of mist appeared like a door to a new reality.  Beyond the mist, we saw a ten-foot gap in the limestone walls.  The road became limestone under our wheels.  The walls fell away to either side and we were in woods, approaching a gate woven from branches extended from two monster trees.  As the Volvo got closer, the bra
nches pulled apart and opened a path for us to go in.  The road became a circular drive ringing a four-tiered fountain.  A side road wound off behind the clan house to where the clansmen parked. 

Good thing I’m special
.  I told Zero-T to stop right at the walkway to the front door.  We piled out of the vehicle.  I studied the building, always impressed by the Old Man’s opulent excess.   One day, he’d retire to the Greek islands, or maybe Miami, and all this would be mine.  I felt the dragon side of my soul stirring, looking through my eyes, taking inventory. 

Mine!
  he echoed.

The center
was a two story Greek Parthenon of pure white marble.  To either side of the colossus, one-story wings stretched away.  The main porch was lined with columns hand-carved to resemble legendary warriors: Orion, Hercules, Achilles, and Jason.  I was rather miffed that my own likeness had not been considered for the artwork.  The columns supported crescent balconies. 

Unlike the original, a dome
-capped this particular pantheon.  The dome was a web of magic-reinforced steel, and the walls had been reinforced to take its weight.  Between the dome’s curved beams, sea-green glass shone.  I knew from living here in my younger days that the Great Hall under the dome had many five-tiered chandeliers hanging.  This made a kind of lighthouse out of the roof so that a coke-bottle-green haze hung above the structure like an aurora borealis being born.  Bathed in that haze, a gold coil spiraled up from the dome’s center-point.  Inside, a mermaid figurehead gazed at the heavens with shadowed eyes.  She was gold as well, her scaled tail folded up at the knees, the fluke fanned against her lower back.  She was a little pudgy, with D-cup breasts.  Splendidly tacky, the nipples were twin rubies.

I could taste them from where I stood.

We started toward the house.  Zero-T slanted me a look.  “Caine, please don’t get me killed.”

Looking at Zero-T, I smiled.  “I don’t waste deaths.  When I get you killed, it will be worth the trade-off, trust me.”

Zero-T rolled his eyes.  “Terribly kind of you.”

I paused next to Achilles and reflexively checked my gear, making sure ammo clips were handy, loosening my guns in their holsters.  My sword hung in its scabbard at my side, fuming at the delay in spilling endless blood.  Its psychic hunger gnawed at my mind, a minor distraction.  You’d think I wouldn’t need such help here, in my own clan house, but I wasn’t taking chances.  The places I worried most about were those where I was supposed to be safe.  

The door opened as Zero-T and I got there.
  
Four house guards met us.  Standing inside the door, their living masks and cloaking spells were cancelled out by the house magic.  The clan house doesn’t allow subterfuge from its members, or from anyone trying to infiltrate. 

The closest two guards had itty-bitty horns poking out of their foreheads.  One had translucent scales
all over, showing red muscle tissue underneath. The other had solid black skin like polished jet with accordion folds around his joints.  In back, the twins looked far more human—until you looked in their eyes and saw black, horizontal pupils across topaz orbs and you noticed that their hands were oversized claws with indigo nails that could be shot off as poisonous projectiles.  Their red-orange hair rippled in a non-existent wind, reminding me of sea anemones.   

As I crossed the threshold, a summoning circle on the hallway floor lit up, bathing me and then Zero-T in a mystic light.  My appearance didn’t alter.  Zero-T’s mask lost flexibility.  It fell off his face, into his hands, a brown ceramic mask with empty eyeholes.  His true face—blue and silver scaled—made him fit into the crowd.  I was the token human in the bunch. 

Zero-T held out his ring.  It glowed to match the floor, showing he belonged here.  I held out my ring too, one I seldom wore.  Its black opal face grew even darker, the gray and red flecks in it shining like stars in an alien sky.

The first two guards nodded, passing us. All four of them studied me in detail, their curiosity dancing over them like a burning aura.  I felt their gazes on my back as I continued.
 
Zero-T lagged two steps to my left side as I went in search of Old Man. 

The hallway opened suddenly into an antechamber lined with black marble pillars.  These were carved into demonic shapes in tribute to clansmen who had died with distinction in service to the house.  Sleek lapis lazuli walls supported a thirty-foot ceiling of the same material.  The surfaces were etched with the history of Lauphram House going back to the days just after Atlantis sank.  One of these days, I was going to have to read the damned things.  The walls tingled my senses with magic.  If I stared too long, I knew the carvings would come to life and act out their saga in a slide show.

We entered the Great Hall.  The light was no longer tinted green by the dome glass.  Under the dome, the chandeliers blazed stark white.  The floors were parquet, an intricate design made up of exotic woods from Africa and Brazil.   The walls were incised with the name symbols of every clansman who had ever lived.  Mine was over the door’s archway next to the Old Man’s. 

Zero-T followed me across the floor. Various knots of demons
paused their private conversations to study me as I passed.  I was beginning to think I’d grown another head on my shoulders.  We passed the coral throne with its half-shell backrest and took a passageway where the floor was tiled in jade and white squares.  Wall sconces replicated the image of the giant mermaid on the roof.  She was shown with arms raised, supporting crystals that glowed watercolor blue. 

The back passage took us to
ward the War Room, where I expected Old Man to be.  I smelled the guards just outside the door before I saw them.  One reeked of cherry-flavored cigarettes.   The other was overly fond of vodka, not that I’d hold that against him.  They put up their hands to stop me from entering.

Ka
den, the First Sword, stood behind them in the room, his back to me so he didn’t have to inflict my image on his eyes and memory.  I’d seen him pull this I-don’t-see-you crap before, just not on me.  Standing six-five, built like Old Man with muscles on muscles, the First Sword projected crushing physical power; one of the reasons everyone wanted him as the next head of the clan.  Next to me, he probably looked even taller.  Topaz flames danced on his red scalp in place of hair, and he had the ember eyes and fire-wings of an ifrit, an infernal djinn, a genie fallen from grace.

He wore the same thing every reunion: red-enameled armor made out of manticore
-tail chitin on his legs and chest, a crimson cloak that spilled fore and aft, almost reaching the ground on both sides of him.  Gold and ruby pins made the drapery resemble a Roman toga.   A blue-steel chain cinched his waist, keeping his scabbarded sword at his side.  The blade—called
Endless Heat—
was
an overly long bastard sword forged centuries ago from the corpse of a fire giant.  It had a dark reputation for eventually betraying its master to death in the flames of battle.  That the First Sword would glory in using a cursed blade made me doubt his intelligence.