Demon Lord 5: Silver Crown King (20 page)

TWENTY

“I am the envy of all I kill.”

                                            —Caine Deathwalker

I moved like a koi in maple syrup.  Time was out of joint, or just being difficult.  Or my thoughts were racing faster than normal, outstripping everything else.  The blackness had a faint green cast.  The green glass flooring was glossy, a layer between me and a sublevel that ignited with eerie emerald-white flames. 

Now I could see people under the floor, skin burnt away, raw muscles exposed.  They screamed, beating skeletal fists, trying to break through the “oven window” to where I was.

This will teach me to fall asleep thinking about hell-dimensions.  I wonder where the demonic overfiend of this place is.

A female voice shrieked at me.  “How dare you kill me; don’t you know I’m too beautiful to die?”

I turned toward the voice and saw the fey woman from my keep’s kitchen.  She wore the bullet hole I’d put in her head.  Her eyes were empty sockets.  Eye fluid had dribbled down her face.  There were a few crow feathers in her hair.  In place of a dress, she was wound up in thorny vines.

I mused, “Now, why the hell would I waste time dreaming about a skank like you?”

“You will pay for what you did to me.  You will suffer and beg for death.”  She stood a dozen feet away, bare feet a few inches above the glass floor.  She reached for me, her arms stretching like rubber to close the distance and grab my throat.  I couldn’t breathe.  She was choking me and laughing like a damned, demented soul. 

I reached with my thoughts, calling my demon sword to me.  Something felt off about the grip of the sword, but I slashed anyway—with a push broom.  The handle bounced off her left arm, doing no damage.

What the Hell!

I dropped the broom and reached for my armory again.  A pistol grip fit my palms.  I raised my handguns and squeezed the triggers—on plastic water guns congested with strawberry jam.  The dream was corrupted beyond my control.  I struggled to focus, to get the reins back.  I mentally added the detail that the guns were full of holy water blessed by a priest. 

This dream will give me what I want.

The water hitting the fey woman burned like acid, washing off skin, fuming her features.  She screamed.  Her grip loosened.  I could breathe again.  I let the water guns go back into nowhere and visualized a new tattoo I’d never had inked.  It appeared on the back of my right hand: a ring with a lightning bolt X.  I imagined that the new spell would let me tap into the electrical potential of my inner dragon.  The spell would fade when I awoke, but it should work, here and now. 

I grabbed her wrists and warmed my new brand with raw magic.  It tingled as golden fire appeared, wreathing my hands, pouring into her arms.  Her skin blackened, the muscles blasted apart.  Her head rolled back as her scream deepened to a gurgle.  Then she was down, moaning, twitching a little, oblivious as a huge, shambling creature came out of the darkness behind her, a bear burning with green fire.  It was the thing I’d killed in Sacramento, another of my memories being thrown at me. 

Understanding hit me.  Asleep, I’d been pulled into nightmare, into the clutches of the Nightmare Court.  This was payback for those I’d killed in my keep.  Fear and terror were going to try and break me.  My only true weapons were my imagination well-deserved confidence.

The fire bear sniffed the crumpled fey.  And bit her head off.  It crunched into pieces and was swallowed.  I stared at the glass-brick floor between us, visualizing little crack growing, spreading, webbing the entire area.

The bear swallowed the last of the woman, and lifted its head to look at me.  “It’s your fault I’m here.  You just had to go and kill me when all I wanted was to eat you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said.  “The Hell of Green Flame Assassins really suits you.”

The bear growled and came on.  As all of its paws pressed onto the cracked glass, the barrier collapsed.  Splintered bricks dropped into the green-white flames as they surged up through the breach.  Floating on that fiery sea, the dead souls latched onto the struggling bear.  Clambering for freedom, the dead grasped green fur, their weight, spinning the beast as it sank.  Losing their ride, the dead swam for the edges of the hole I’d made.  Several of the dead made it to my edge of the floor.

I pointed a palm at them.  Golden jags of electrical fire forked across the gap, blasting the dead back into the embrace of the
whooshing
flames.  New glass bricks faded in as the hell-dimension repaired itself, walling in the dead once more.  I turned, scanning the darkness to every side, and called out to the Nightmare fey who were playing with me, “That’s all you’ve got?  Pathetic.”

The darkness came for me, breaking apart into a storm of crows.  They cawed, wings pumping, little red eyes burning with hate. 

Fuck!  I really need to wake up now
.

Wishing for it didn’t help.  There must have been a large number of nightmare fey pooling their power to keep me here.

Alright.  Time for the big guns. 
Since this was a dark dream, I could dispense with logic to some degree.  I knelt and touched the glass floor.  Spikes of glass shot up, spearing many of the crows.  I lashed the air with golden lightning, killing the rest. 

“For my final act,” I announced, “something you fey have never encountered: a tactical nuclear warhead going off in your face!” 

Hah!  Fey Society hadn’t suffered through a nuclear age and they thought they knew what fear was.

In the distance, a light came with the strength of a thousand suns.  Expecting this, I looked away.  Chasing after the flash, a concussive wave hit, gouging up the floor, creating a tsunami of shattered glass.  My dragon wings were out and flapping, the transformation coming easier because I wanted it that way.  I ripped across the sky, climbing higher and higher.  I imagined the returning darkness taking on weight and substance, letting it entomb me.  My claws slashed at soil as I dug toward a surface firmly fixed in my imagination. 

The “ground” shuddered, rippled, and bucked me up into fresh air with a new world around me.

I tumbled end over end, fighting to right myself.  And felt a hand pressing on my chest.  I was being bounced on my bed by Gumbo.  He rumbled at me, “C’mon, we gotta go eat.  Wake-up already.”

“I am awake.  You can stop bouncing me now.”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah.”  The gator demon backed off. 

I swung my feet off the bed and switched on the nightstand lamp.  The sheet around my lower body was damp with sweat.   I needed a quick jump in the shower.  But first…

“Hey, Gumbo?”

Pausing on the threshold, he looked back.  “Yeah?”

“What was it that got you kicked out of the Gator-Demon Clan?”

“Ah, I don’t really like to talk about that.  I was young and foolish, and thought drawing to an inside straight was a good thing.”

“Gambling?  What did you lose?”

He sighed and scratched his head.  My family headed the clan.  We had a big chunk of South Louisiana Bayou.  The land developers were after it.  I got sucked into a rigged game and, well, here I am.  Exiled.  Anyone else would have been killed.”

“What would happen if you went back and told them you had a way of making it all up to them?”

He turned in the doorway.  “Seriously?”

“Sure.  I’ve got some river property in Fairy that they can use indefinitely.  All I ask is that they kill any intruding fey on the river that don’t have my permission to be there.  After the coronation, I’ll even build them a bar to drink in.”

“I think I can swing this,” Gumbo said, “but there is a deal-breaker.”

“What?”

“Spicy chicken wings.  The bar will have to have them.”

I nodded.  “Deal.  Go get things moving.  I need that river protected.”

He grinned and turned away.  “On it.”

Now I just needed to have Izumi and her mom help me out by forming a permanent portal near my keep so the shape-shifter clans can come and go, maybe another version of my magic mirror.  I’ll dump the project on Izumi.  She’ll know who to talk to.”

I got up and went into the bathroom.  It was well lit.  I lifted a hand reflexively to shield my eyes.  They adjusted quickly, and then I noticed a smudge of shadow on the back of one hand: a circle crossed with lightning bolts.  This was shadow, not ink, a bubbling up of shadow magic. 
Weird
.  I held my hand out and flushed the hand with raw magic.  The skin cleared.  The blemish went away.  As the raw magic died, the shadow pattern returned.  On a hunch, I flushed the pattern with even more shadow magic.

A black web of lightning crackled around my hand.  I pointed at the toilet paper dispenser. The roll exploded making flurry of confetti. 

Well now, that’s interesting.

Whistling a happy tune, I started the shower, sure that I was now one trick up on the Old Man.

I concentrated harder.  The black fire crackled and thickened.  My whole hand vanished in a ball of darkness.  I willed the fire to be still, a field of force, and touched the mirror over the sink with the flat of my palm.  Withdrawing my hand left a big hole in the glass giving me a view of the contents inside the medicine cabinet.  Where the glass went, I didn’t know. This opened up a world of possibilities.  Crazy thoughts danced through my head and I smiled.

TWENTY-ONE

“Uninvited guests should be

used for target practice.”

                                                    —Caine Deathwalker

Over the last month, the Old Man had taken advantage of the dwarf workmen making repairs on the property.  He’d swung a side deal.  Tonight, we were seeing the unveiling of a new banquet room.  Knowing his tastes, I braced myself for The Hell of Endless Tackiness.  On the second floor, gathered at closed, ivory doors covered with gilded scrollwork, Julia, Tera, and the Old Man loitered patiently.  I figured we were right above the War Room and the main kitchen. 

“You make being fashionably late a lifestyle,” the Old Man said.  “You’d miss your own funeral, even if they chained you in a coffin.”

“What’s this bullshit, Old Man?  You know I don’t intend to die, ever.” I ducked my head and felt a wind go by.  The Old man doesn’t like cussing.  He’d used a shadow-magic hand for years to smack my head, and it hasn’t fixed me yet.  I smiled at him.  “You’re getting old, predictable.”

He glared.  “You think so?”  He turned and seized the door handles, giving them a twist and push.  The doors glided open.  He walked in with the girls trailing along.  I went along and stopped a few feet inside to look around.  The carpet was Mediterranean blue.  The walls of the banquet hall were a shade of blue so pale it might as well have been white.  Faux Greek columns formed a ring at the center of the space, surrounding a pool of crystal water—a lobster tank of sorts.  Sand dollar tables were space out randomly.  The chairs were open clamshells lined with claret-colored cushions.  I looked up at a frosted glass ceiling etched with the exploits of ancient Greek gods and heroes.  Wait-staff stood ranked off to the side in togas.  In one corner, I saw a pneumatic tube, a vacuum-powered elevator to bring food up from the first floor.  The far wall contained three sets of French doors, all opening to the same wide balcony that overlooked the Clan House garage and the forest beyond. 

“Fuck me blind!” I muttered.  “This is actually nice.”

I ducked again, sensing a shadow hand forming behind me.  I wound up ducking into the swing of the hand.  The Old Man does learn from his mistakes.

“Glad you like it.”  He led the way to a table near the pool that was different from the rest, longer, and set for a large number of guests.  He took the center position of the table, sitting in a chair especially designed to accommodate his seven-foot, hyper-muscled bulk.  He wore a toga himself, edged in gold, to better showoff his many winding, nautical-themed scars and tats.  With the baby blue skin of an Atlantean demon, he fit in with the décor beautifully. 

The girls filled in to either side of him.  I settled across from him, picked up my empty wine glass, and waved it in the air toward the staff. 

A female demon with wooden antlers and green leaves for hair came up to my chair and bowed.  “What can I get for you?”

“Anything left in the cellar that’s fit to drink?” I asked.

“We have a very nice Chianti Classico ’97,” she said. 

“Eighteen ninety-seven?” I asked.

“Uh, no, my lord, nineteen-ninety-seven, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

“The Old Man nodded,” a good year for the Tuscany vineyards.  This wine was rated the best of the century and can’t be found on the market anymore.  Fortunately, I was able to, uh,
acquire
two crates.”

“Did they just happen to fall off a truck?” I asked.   

“If by ‘falling off a truck’ you mean, ‘did I steal them from the White House’—I have no comment except to say that politicians bought the bottles with money stolen from the public through taxes.  The Federal Tyranny should not be allowed to prosper from such villainous work.”

For a demon, the Old Man had a weird sense of justice and honor.  If he thought the wine was good, it probably was. I nodded to the waitress.  “Bring a bottle, and some soda for the girls.”

Tera stared across the Old Man at Julia, asking, “Soda?”

Julia stared back.  “A mystical, bubbly elixir found only on earth.  You’ll like it.”  She turned her face to the waitress.  “Cherry colas with lots of ice.”

The waitress bowed to Julia—which I really did not expect—and said, “Yes, my Lady.” She hurried off to get our drinks. 

I looked at the Old Man.  “Why such a big table for just us?”

The Old Man glanced toward the balcony where the help were opening the French doors to catch a sea breeze.  “We have more guest arriving.”

Several figures dropped out of the sky, onto the balcony, and strolled in like they owned the place.  I recognized Drake and Kinsey, and assumed the rest were guards.  Drake folded his dragon wings against his human back, sliding them under a steel gray cloak that matched his close-cropped hair, medieval-style tunic, and hose.  He wore a jeweled codpiece over his private parts. 

I softly snorted in amusement.

A shadow hand whacked the back of my head.

I looked at the Old Man.  “Why?  You thought it was funny, too.”

“Yes,” he said, but I didn’t disrespect a guest by making an audible sound.”

Well, I suppose…

Drake’s cloak was pinned with a hematite clasp.  He wore knee-high black boots, both with jeweled dagger hilts poking out of the top.  The weapon were jarring; he usually didn’t carry any. 
He must be feeling a little more vulnerable than usual. 
I noticed that his gaze ignored me and the Old Man, skittering off Kinsey, but returning to her time and again. 
Ah!  That’s who you’re afraid of.  Interesting.

I shifted my focus to Kinsey.  Beautiful as ever and just as prickly, her eyes flashing proud fire, her head lifted high.  She also wore a gold, sleeveless gown that smelled like
real
gold.  I wanted to immediately rip that dress off her—and run away with it.  In place of her cherished rapier, she wore a wide black leather belt with a silver and sapphire buckle. The belt supported a pair of holsters tied down on her thighs.  Military 45. I guessed.  Her straw colored hair was French braided, a brighter shade of yellow than her antique gold eyes.  Her usual kung-fu bracelets were gone.  Instead, she wore gold-dyed leather wrist cuffs with throwing spikes sheathed all around them.

Reaching the table with Drake at her side, she looked at me.  “Caine, nobody’s killed you off yet?”

Drake’s deep-set, brown-and-yellow eyes found her. “A little more respect, please, for the occasion, if not the dragon.”

She said, “If it’s not pure-blood, it’s not a dragon.”

I stared at Julia.  She sat still, shocked, her mouth open, her face growing red.  She looked like someone had just slapped her.  Like me, she was only half dragon.  And yeah, she’d heard other kids saying that, but adults were usually too polite to hurt a child needlessly.

I rose and turned toward the end of the table where our guests stood.  I stared at Kinley, letting her see death in my eyes.  “If your so-called honor must flout itself by spitting venom, aim it at me, not my child.  Forget this again, and I will hurt you.”

The Old Man’s voice was raw with surprise.  “Caine, your hand.”

I looked down at my clenched fist.  The shadow brand of circled lightning was dark as obsidian.  My trembling fist spiked with branches of black, electric fire, each dying fork continually replaced by more.  I drew a deep, calming breath and willed the shadow brand to go dormant.  The black lightning vanished, but not my anger; it was just leashed. 

I stared back at Kinsey.

Face pale and troubled, she was looking at Julia.  “I—I didn’t mean…”

I jerked my head toward the door.  “Julia, Tera, c’mon.  We’re going out for Chunk O. Cheesy Pizza.”

I walked toward the door, hearing chairs scrape, shoved back.  The girls ran to catch up with me and took my hands.

Tara whispered to Julia.  “What’s pezzuh?”

The Old Man yelled.  “Caine, wait, we have important business here.”

I didn’t look back.  I said, “Old Man, your rules won’t let me kill your guests, but I probably will if I stay.”

Drake called out.  “Caine, wait, please.”

Please?

I stopped and turned, the kids revolving around me like moons.  I glared at Drake, ignoring Kinsey.

He bowed formally.  “One under my authority gave offense in the face of hospitality.  The shame is mine.”  He knelt, casting away his dragon pride.  “Accept my apology and name what amends need be paid.”

Kinsey gasped in disbelief, her face paling.  The same reaction spread like wildfire across the guards they’d brought.  I’d always suspected that Drake harbored a streak of genuine liking for me.  This proved it.

I looked down at Julia.  “He is apologizing to you.  It’s up to you what you do with it.”

She looked up at me, then over at Kinsey.  “But she’s the one who was rude.  Why does he have to apologize?”

I shrugged.  “I guess because his honor is real and hers isn’t.”

“That isn’t fair!” Kinsey protested.

“Neither is picking on a kid,” I said.

“You know I didn’t mean to.  When the dragon-child was kidnapped, I gave you permission to call on me.  I told you I’d fight at your side for her sake.”

Julia tugged on my hand.  “She did?”

“Yes,” I said, “But we handled it without her.”

Julia said, “Well, she willing.  I suppose we can forgive her—just this once.”

I nodded.  “Fine, we’ll get pizza another time.”

Tera said, “What is this Pezzuh?”

“Tell you later,” Julia said.

We walked back.  The girls resettled.  I stood behind my seat, watching Drake stand.  He gave me a deep nod and pulled out the end chair, sitting down.  Kinsey pulled out a chair around the corner from him.  She sat, paying a great deal of attention to moving the wine glass to just the proper distance from her plate.  Unfolding her cloth napkin also seemed a chore requiring her full attention.  If she were screwing me, I’d have been tempted to fill some pity, but she wasn’t, so I didn’t.

I looked at the Old Man.  “Want to tell me what skullduggery you’ve got going on?  The day my family comes to me on bended knee is the day Hell freezes over and they hold the Winter Olympics there.”

The waitress was back, making the rounds, taking dinner orders.  An ice bucket on a stand was placed next to me.  It cradled the Chianti I’d ordered. 

The Old man kept me waiting, placing his order.  “Lobster tail pizza with Mediterranean olives, and a nice white garlic sauce.  And a bladder of Greek wine with that.  Crème brulee for desert.”

Julia jumped in.  “Tara and I’ll spilt a ham and pineapple pizza with bacon bits.”

“Pezzuh!” Tera echoed.

The waitress looked at me. 

“Ah, what the hell.  Okay, we’ll eat first.  Lobster tail and a New York strip, but I’ll start off with some coconut shrimp skewers.”

The waitress wrote it down and moved on to Drake and Kinsey.  Drake ordered two full lobsters and a side of curly fries.  Kinsey just said, “I’m good.”

I stared at her.  Time for a little torment.  I kept my voice soft and inquisitive, “So, our food isn’t good enough for you?”  She sent me a scalding look, but I somehow survived.

She said, “I’m just not hungry.”

“You know,” I said, “in some cultures, it is forbidden to lift hand against a man you’ve shared salt with.  For that reason, people wishing you ill won’t eat your food.”

“What are you accusing me of?” Kinsey asked.  “Plotting to stab you over desert?”

I shrugged.  “It crossed my mind.”

She growled low in her throat and glared at the waitress.  “A grilled cheese sandwich, French fries, and a milk.”

The waitress drew back a little, as if expecting to be bit, but wrote the order down.  She hurried off.

I looked at the Old Man.  “Well?”

He drew a deep breathe.  “Seasons change, as do the rhythms of life.  Old goals, achieved, are set aside with faded dreams.  The thoughts of a man turn to retirement, to surrounding himself with comforts, and to enjoying what the centuries have wrought.  There comes a time when the torch must be passed on.”

I said, “In other words, you’ve been too busy running an empire to get laid, and now you’re going to retire to Florida.  Good news, Old Man.  I’ll help you pack your bag.”

“I’m not moving away, but I am stepping down and handing you the black crown of the demon clan.”

About time.
  An odd thought hit me. 
Black Crown, a demon reference, that’s also the name of the Slayer’s secret project.  Could just be envy of what we’ve got, I suppose.

The Old Man said, “And one more thing, I’m getting married.”

The whole room went deathly quiet.