Authors: Nadia Lee
Echoes. On a beach.
I took a firmer grip on my sword, squinted against the sun and saw a centaur coming fast, the sand churning under its hooves. It was entirely black, and I couldn’t tell where its human torso ended and the equine part started. Not very creative, but then creatures of nightmare aren’t known for originality.
My client began to touch herself…which was weird. Normally the incubus initiates sexual contact, not the other way around. The air smelled faintly of musk and lemon—in other words, fresh Sex—but that couldn’t be right. Sex can’t be created from a solo act. Maybe it was just me hallucinating after tossing down that vial of vomit inducer earlier.
The centaur stopped in front of Selena and looked down at her, its face taut. “You’ve been disobeying my orders again.”
Selena dropped her gaze. “Master.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What good is a disobedient slave? I should sell you.”
“No!” Selena rose to her knees and stretched her arms out. “Master, please don’t cast me away.”
The centaur shoved her to the sand and began whipping her back. Hard. I winced. I’d seen a lot of sexual fantasies on the job—it’s more or less required in my line of work—and some of them were pretty hardcore. I’d never enjoyed any of them, mainly because the things abusing my clients were real demons.
“What happens to a disobedient wench?”
“She gets punished!” Selena cried.
The ground rose around her in ropes and tied her to its gritty surface. With each crack of the whip, her pelvis jerked and rubbed against the sand. Her breath grew jagged and fast.
Impatience gnawed at me. What was Selena waiting for? One last high before surrendering the damn demon to me?
As the punishment continued, the centaur’s cock started to stiffen. Crimson welts crisscrossed Selena’s body, but she didn’t shrink away. Rather she begged to service the thing.
I pushed down a desire to go out and rip the demon’s face off. Interfering in someone’s dream without explicit permission is never a good idea, and I didn’t want to get stuck in jail until somebody from the firm bailed me out.
The centaur hissed, “Yes,” and suddenly Selena was free. She knelt and took its penis into her mouth, playing with her hard nipples at the same time. Sweat and blood mingled and coated her skin.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I muttered to myself. “Say ‘help.’”
The sun started to sink into the ocean and limned the centaur in orange. It threw its head backward as Selena’s mouth moved faster over its cock. The scent of musk and lemon grew stronger. Her face contorted, turned into something raw and full of Sex, and I cursed.
Without bothering for permission, I stepped out from behind the tree. There was no incubus. And this wasn’t a mortal woman bent on fulfilling her exhibitionist fantasy privately and safely.
She
was the demon. And she—no,
it
—was messing with me.
I drew a dagger and threw it; a gust of wind suddenly came up and pushed it off-course.
Hissing, Selena turned. Its face was human only by a technicality. “Mortal.”
“Demon,” I said. “What kind of game are you playing?”
It laughed, a screech as shudder-inducing as nails scraping down corrugated tin. “No game, no game! You are marked!”
Marked?
The centaur vanished and the demon straightened to its full height. The gaunt human façade melted off its tall frame like heated wax. Scraggly red hair covered a freakishly small head. Tiny crimson eyes, too many to count, remained unblinking and focused on me. Instead of a nose, it had three thin slits. What an ugly bitch. The thing I hated the most, though, was its midriff—it didn’t have one. It was as if there was an antigravity gap between its bust and hips, which meant disembowling “Selena” was going to be out of question. Talk about unfair.
A smirk appeared on its glistening purple lips, and magic radiated from it like a hot furnace. This wasn’t some midgrade succubus. It was powerful, far more so than my initial estimate.
I couldn’t believe Valerie hadn’t done a background check on this
client
before sending me off on the job. It certainly wasn’t going to introduce itself to me. Demons never give out their real names.
I faced the thing that had been a woman just a moment ago. It didn’t attack, although its body vibrated with the tense energy you get right before a duel. Strange.
Oh well. Its problem, not mine. I planned to add it to my kill list.
As if it’d read my thoughts, a morning star appeared in its three-fingered hand. “Fight, mortal. I will shred you and drink your blood.”
“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots.” One cliché deserved another.
I brought my sword up. I’d worry about the paperwork later.
The demon circled sideways. It had the advantage—since we were in its dream, it controlled the environment. But I didn’t dwell on the situation. To do so would only split my focus and undermine my confidence.
I swung, as did the demon. The spiked ball at the end of the chain clanged against my blade, knocking it sideways. The blue ocean solidified into crystals and changed color to sun-bleached white. Columns rose and smooth rock piled up until a Roman gladiatorial arena with tens of thousands of togated spectators surrounded us. They booed at my every offensive move and cheered for the demon’s victory. Self-glorification at its finest, but it showed just how much power this demon wielded, that it could keep all of that going and fight at the same time.
Sweat began to bead on my temples. I could feel the blood in my veins heat and pulse through my body.
We exchanged so many blows that my arm began to ache. Its strikes were bone-jarring. The spikes on the morning star gleamed under the relentless sun. I ducked, neatly avoiding getting a chunk of my flesh ripped from my face, and lunged forward. My blade dug into its thigh. It pulled back, hissing. Thick black liquid the consistency of molasses oozed from the wound and hung toward to the ground. The demon’s hundreds of eyes glowed bright white, like so many tiny supernovas.
A diamond-shaped block of ice fell from the sky and landed where I’d been less than a second earlier. The demon screeched, and another block fell, then another. The quicker I evaded them, the more enraged it became and the faster the ice fell.
I didn’t have time for this game. And the last thing I needed was an injury. I drew a circle with my sword and sealed it off. Then I raised my blade as magic heated it. Before the demon could bring another ice meteor shower down on my head, I incanted and sliced the air in a clean arc.
Thick, metallic-scented gel poured in through the cut and smashed against the shield I’d erected. The sky ripped and the gladiatorial arena and the spectators crumbled like a sand castle under a tsunami. The demon doubled over, morning star forgotten, its hands cradling its pygmy head, shrieking.
I’d slashed the barrier of its psyche. Bet it hadn’t been expecting that. The spell required a lot of power and skill—Level One, to be exact. The Federation of Mageship frowned upon its use except in the most extenuating circumstances, because it could kill the one with the damaged psyche. The firm would have to send a horde of lawyers to deal with the paperwork and outraged Federation enforcers who would undoubtedly want my head on a silver platter. But I had to get out of the demon’s dream. There were no standard procedures for a situation like this, and I was sure they would understand.
Once they talked to the firm’s attorneys, that is.
The demon’s wail rose unbelievably high, then mercifully went beyond my hearing. What was left of the dreamscape wavered and then vanished with a pop like a soap bubble. The demon collapsed, and even though I felt my usual sensual, visceral thrill when an enemy fell, it was kind of too bad—I’d wanted to ask the thing about that “marked” comment.
I found myself back in the dark bedroom. The demon was curled under the covers, its face contorted in death.
My booted feet trampled the early summer grass as I went to my car. Somewhere a dog barked. A lot of the residents in Selena’s neighborhood probably owned pets, and I could just imagine a family of four with apple-cheeked children and a big golden retriever. It wasn’t the kind of family I know from experience, but from nauseatingly wholesome Disney movies and holiday propaganda. My foster family can be many things, but they’re not exactly all-American.
I tossed the hunting gear into the trunk and called Valerie. “How did it go?” she asked after the first ring.
I didn’t have to hear more than that. “You knew.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.” The lilac-scented late evening wind was cool against my heated skin. Too bad it couldn’t cool my temper. “
Referred client
, my ass. You set me up! What the hell are you trying to pull?”
Her voice changed registers slightly. “A big deal with lots of money. What I always try to pull for the firm.”
When Valerie did business, possible negative consequences were rarely given much consideration, especially if everything turned out fine. What, her worry? She was a warding specialist and had never fought a battle in her life. I was wasting my breath yelling at her and knew it, but I was too pissed off to care.
“Look, why don’t you come back to the office?” Valerie said, her tone smooth. “I’ll explain everything. We’ll talk.”
“No shit we will.”
I snapped the phone shut and reached into the trunk to get an ax. Gripping it tightly, I stalked back to the townhouse and entered the bedroom where the body lay on the bed. The demon’s multiple eyes stared blankly at me. Valerie wanted to talk? Fine. I’d give her something to talk about.
The blade cut through the demon’s neck like a carrot. Thick black liquid squirted over the mattress. I picked up the head by its hair and wrinkled my nose. The blood was going to stink up my car.
I wiped my ax on the sheet and went to the master bathroom for a shower curtain. Naturally, the stall was made of glass. I glanced at my reflection, wondering what that “marked” comment had meant. A tattoo maybe? Everything looked normal, but for some reason I felt like I was covered with slime. I put the demon head on the floor and ran a hand down my torso. It was probably the psychic fluid from the demon’s dream still clinging to me. I’d never exited a dream that way before.
“A sensation remarkably like mucus, wouldn’t you agree?”
I whirled around, the ax coming up. A tall stranger was watching me, leaning against the bathroom door. The tight pull of his ponytail accentuated the sharp angles and planes of his face. Long platinum hair and keen emerald green eyes drew me in, a trap for any animal dumb enough to miss the substance beneath the pretty package. Layers of glamour wrapped around him, trying to disguise his true nature, but it was obvious that he wasn’t human. Maybe an incubus? I couldn’t tell for sure, which was worrisome. Normally I can smell the things a mile away.
My grip on the ax tightened, my heart hammering against my chest. Something must have been wrong that day. First I’d missed Selena’s true nature, and now I couldn’t tell about this guy?
It,
I told myself. A demon was an
it,
not a guy…but something about this one compelled me to think differently. And damned if that something wasn’t working, because I couldn’t bring myself to call him “it.”
Crap. I was really in trouble.
“You fought superbly.” There was a hint of admiration in his voice, which was a rich baritone that went over me like a coat of warm honey. “I doubted you could kill her, not in your mortal vessel.”
Part of me wanted to preen a little, but another part—the smarter and stronger one—was appalled that I was flattered. Demons were the enemy. They never did anything nice without a reason. Besides, he probably hadn’t even seen the fight. I hadn’t sensed Selena inviting anyone else into the dream, and I would have noticed if another demon had entered unbidden.
“What do you want?” I said, my tone flat.
“To save you.”
Despite myself, I laughed. Guess some demons have a warped sense of humor, although he was the first one I’d met.
“As good as you were,” he continued, “she marked you.”
That sobered me up. Maybe he’d seen the fight after all. Was he Selena’s buddy? I couldn’t tell, and nothing made me jumpier than uncertainty. Still, he made no move forward. He remained relaxed, and my gut said he wouldn’t hurt me.
My gut was probably delusional from the lack of food.
If I couldn’t rely on instinct, I had to trust logic. And right about then logic was pointing out that the sense of security I was feeling was a trap. There were lots of demons that wanted me dead. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the one in front of me was a card-carrying member of the Kill Ashera Club.
“Yeah, well, ‘marked.’ Once I take a shower I’ll be fine.”
“You won’t last a day without my help,” he said.
“A day? You mean like yester
day?
Or the
day
before that?” Just because Selena had claimed to have marked me didn’t mean I was going to start hiring demon bodyguards or something. I’d’ve trusted a starving dog with a slab of prime rib before I trusted a demon with my safety. “I’ve stayed alive all these years without you, and I’m sure I’ll continue to stay alive without you. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now.” I took a step forward, ax at the ready. “Alone.”
He took a graceful step back, like a matador. “As you wish.”
It was kind of disappointing. “What, you aren’t going to try to stop me?”
“I would never force you to do something that you didn’t wish to do.”
I frowned. The angle of my ax drooped a bit. Nobody had said anything like that to me before. In my life, things were always done because they were expected of me or because they had to be. Like now, facing my second demon of the night instead of being home with Chinese food.
Despite the glamour, the demon couldn’t quite disguise how old and powerful he truly was. He could try to force me to do what he wanted, and I’d have a tough fight on my hands. I’m okay with an ax, but more comfortable with a sword. So why did he care about what I wanted? What was his game?
“In any case, you will soon recognize your error,” he said. Conviction added a weight to his words. I had a feeling he wouldn’t attack me. He hadn’t promised to leave me alone, but if he’d wanted to kill me, he would’ve tried by now.
Still, in my line of work it paid to be careful, especially when those emerald-green eyes were making it hard to think clearly. The containment circle was still in place at the foot of Selena’s bed. I indicated it with my chin. “Go stand in the circle.” It wouldn’t give him much problem if he wanted to break it, but every extra second counts.
A brief look of amusement crossed his features, but he went and stood quietly. “Before your birthday is over,” he continued. “It is a day of significance… Three upon three upon three.”
Slightly more relaxed, but still keeping an eye on him, I bent and picked up Selena’s head. “Sure, whatever. Hold your breath. Hey, can a demon die of asphyxiation?”
“
He
will come for you, and you are not yet strong enough to stand against him without my assistance. But you remain unconvinced. Very well. Should you need me, simply say…‘uncle.’”
“Bite me.”
His eyes changed slightly, something ancient and primal glinting in them as they traveled down my body. Surprisingly, he smiled, straight pearly whites sparkling. “It would be my pleasure.”
The words whispered through the air, each syllable a silken caress. I shivered, my throat suddenly dry, and it was all I could do to rally myself. “Yeah? A pleasure you’re nev—”
He was gone.
Okay, that was just weird. Incubi and succubi are notorious loners, and having two appear on one job was a first for me. Maybe for anyone. I’d never heard of it happening.
That was another piece of evidence for the case that he was something other than an incubus—there are plenty of supernaturals out there. Or maybe he was another one of Valerie’s tricks.
I considered calling her again, but I would see her soon enough. And I had a definite idea of how I wanted to make my entrance. I’d think about Mr. Blond Sexy Creature of Nightmare later, when I could devote proper attention to the matter.
I walked through the house, dripping head in one hand and ax in the other, feeling like some kind of urban headhunter. I searched until I found a black trash bag in the kitchen and threw the head into it. Satisfied that nothing was leaking, I went back outside, wedged the bag into my trunk next to the spare tire and sped away. Next step: culinary backup.
The owner of Lotus Blossom answered on the second ring. He sounded happy to hear my voice until I told him where I wanted my extra spicy General Tso’s chicken and Coke Zero delivered.
“It too far. We doan deliver. You pick up, okay?”
“A woman named Valerie Johnson is going to pay for my food. Charge her extra for the hassle.”
“Ten dollah extra. Okay?”
“Make it twenty.”
The owner promised to be quick but said he couldn’t guarantee the food would be hot. I didn’t care. The office had a microwave, and the twenty bucks would hit Valerie where it hurt the most—right in her limited-edition Narciso Rodriguez wallet.
The road was more crowded than usual, which didn’t surprise me. I was on I-66 going toward the city. Bill Swain, world-famous billionaire founder of TriMedica, had supposedly invited a dragonlord to meet with him, and two others were rumored to have accepted invitations from a couple of his major competitors. If it happened, such a visit would be an unprecedented event. The dragonlords had always ignored similar invitations from big corporations in the past, and of course they weren’t being summoned. Nobody was powerful enough to force a dragonlord, the only surviving supernatural classified as “demigod,” to do anything against its will. But just the rumor was enough. Even this late at night, dragon groupies were converging on the nation’s capital, tripling the hotel rates, and the media fed the frenzy further by speculating on the event 24/7.
It was to the point that radio jockeys were taking phone calls from their listeners to gossip about it between songs.
“Oh my God, I’ve waited all my life for this moment,” a guy said. He sounded young. “It’s gonna be awesome. I wonder if this means we’ll be invited to see a dragonhold.”
I snorted. Dream on.
“This is shameful. Shameful! Dragons are the agents of Satan.” This time it was a woman with a shrill voice. “As a Christian, I find it offensive that we’re allowing them to visit our God-fearing nation.”
Allow?
I had to laugh. And did she really think that this visit had anything to do with religion? TriMedica—or any other pharmaceutical company—would love to form a partnership with the dragonlords. Dragons lived for centuries. If anyone discovered the secret of their longevity, they could make a killing.
The real question was: What did the dragonlords want?
The last bargain on record—meaning no media speculation or urban legend gossip—stated that the dragonlords had granted one person immortality in return for mortals’ alliance in their war against the slayers, a demigodly race that had stood against the dragonlords for centuries, even humiliated them, though the details were vague. But that had been at least four hundred years back.
Well, not my problem. Beings that powerful always extracted more than they gave. The dragonlords couldn’t offer me anything I wanted for a price I was willing to pay. Hope TriMedica could afford them.
I maneuvered my car though the crawling traffic and exited onto the beltway and Route 7. The firm was located in Tysons Corner, not too far from the Ritz Carlton. The parking lot held several black sedans. I parked my Audi in the spot closest to the entrance and hauled my gear and the black plastic bag up to the ninth floor.
The office was empty except for Valerie and a few other people in the reception area. Men—wait for it—in black. Probably the “big deal” folks Valerie was trying to sign.
Before she could say hi, I dropped my gear on an empty couch, pulled the head out of the bag and tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a thunk and spun like a hairy potato, leaving a trail of viscous black ooze on the glass surface. The unseeing eyes glared up at us as the head revolved. Everyone shrank back, including Valerie. She rarely saw demons up close and personal.
I stuck a hand out. “My dinner?”
Slightly pale, Valerie handed me a paper carton with funky red letters saying
Thank you!
and a pair of chopsticks. There was also a Coke Zero.
The aroma of chicken and sauce made my mouth water. I took the carton without a word, sat next to my bag and dug in. My teeth crushed the tender dark meat, and the tangy spicy sweet sauce coated my tongue. I could have wept. The Lotus Blossom chef might not be immortal, but he was a god.
Valerie was still a little shaken, but she wasn’t going to let some demon head get in the way of business. “This is a security detail from TriMedica,” she said. “Gentlemen, please meet Ms. Ashera del Cid. She’s a partner here at the firm and the foremost dragon specialist in the country. Ashera, Mr. Samuel Andersen, head of security for TriMedica.”
The man indicated was standing at parade rest. He looked at me and squinted, lines a quarter-inch deep forming around eyes the color of rivets. “She’s a kid.”
And I bet you can’t get it up anymore without drugs.
I didn’t voice the thought. Valerie would have had a heart attack, and Jack would disapprove if his only child died. So I concentrated on satisfying my hunger.
Valerie answered him coolly. Ms. In-Charge. “You said you wanted the best. You won’t find anyone as qualified as she is on dragons. Furthermore—” Valerie glanced at the demon head, “—she’s obviously much better than your supernatural.”
Andersen grunted and turned his body fractionally toward me. “I don’t like to outsource security, but in this case we have no choice.”