Red Moon Demon (Demon Lord) (2 page)

TWO

“I make death look good.”

—
Caine Deathwalker

I got dressed in one of my all-black Italian suits; you have to look good while kicking ass, and hey, if I should one day get killed, I’d leave behind a spiffy corpse. As always, I had my toys: twin
PPK
s semiautomatic 9mm. with hollow and mercury tipped rounds in various clips. I had other ammo for regular humans. I even carried a clip with silver rounds for werewolves, though they’d been banned from L.A. years ago. When wearing my complete combat harness, I had another set of PPKs, flash bombs, smoke bombs, and twin short swords that hung upside on my back. And I had my
baby
, a demon sword that came across any distance to fill my hand when called. It was a folded-steel katana made by Old Man, with the help of a dragon in human form who’d used his own fire in the forging.

The same dragon, Red Fang, ran a tattoo shop. He’d covered my body with enchanted tattoos. Years of horrific pain had been involved. The very memory brought a shiver of ecstasy. This type of tat can only be done by old dragons that have mastered their magic, using their own blood in the ink to stabilize and seal demon curses in living flesh. With such dormant
power
waiting t
o be awakened, I could never be
unarmed by an opponent, but I always felt better having cold
steel on me as well.”

I made my way to the three-car garage. Only one car was inside, a black ‘96 mustang with solid rubber tires. There was more th
a
n a hundred thousand dollars invested under the hood, and sixty thousand in the rest: fingerprint door lock and ignition, armor, and more luxury than you’d ever want. A 50 cal. machine gun unloaded on the windows would do nothing.

Techno-magic; how great it is.

I slid behind the wheel and started her up. The deep grumble of the engine was all it took to get Leona out in the garage and into the car. As a spirit leopard, she ghosted into the vehicle without opening her door, and sat in the seat next to me.

I said, “Hey make sure this time I’m the only one can see you. Last time you made that poor little girl piss her pants”

The leopard
hump
h
ed
. “Yeah, that was freakin’ funny. Hey, turn on the seat warmer.”

“You’re wearing a fur coat,” I pointed out.

She glared at me like I was putrid zombie slime about to get her fur dirty.

I sighed. “Fine, I’ll turn it on.”

I used a remote to open the sliding door to the driveway. We backed out of the garage with its concrete floor, work benches, and tool racks. Neon signs—advertising various brands of liquor—shed blue and red light in our wake, making it seem like we were escaping some nameless hell dimension. The vehicle backed and turned into the street then went forward.

Wearing skin-tight jeans and a loose, white blouse, my next door neighbor watered her flowers. I had to slow and stare.

Izumi had perfect pale skin with long straight black hair. Her eyes were large black mirrors. Five-foot nothing, maybe a hundred and five pounds, but she could freeze your blood in ten seconds flat. I’d always loved “lethal” in a woman. Her heart-shaped face had high cheek bones with the palest of blush that made her look like a perfect doll. With a smile that could melt a man and drive him insane, she carried herself with dignity and had a mouth you longed to kiss. Smart and witty, she never cursed, except at Old Man. She was so good natured—for a demon—I liked messing with her. A couple times, I’d provoked her into casting a miniature blizzard,
nothing my protective spells couldn’t handle.

Seeing me, she waved.

I stopped. I didn’t want to be late, de-icing my tires. Again.

“Good evening, Caine, Leona.”

Leona never hid her presence from Izumi. They were good friends.

The ice demon bent forward to talk and I had quite an interesting view inside her blouse. She didn’t seem to mind so I kept my attention focused there. She used that special smile of hers, and I grew another
stick-shift
in the car. She said, “The neighbor on the other side of your house moved out abruptly. I was wondering if you knew why.”

Actually, she was checking to see what I knew about those she’d moved into my territory. “Last I heard, he got mad and hissy-fitted across town because a Yeti mov
ed into his basement. A friend
of yours?” I asked.

She shrugged off my question. “You know how vampires are; they have to bitch about everything.”

“Come fuckin’ clean, Izumi.” I knew F-bombs irritate her, but hell, that’s how people talk. How Izumi and Leona got along I couldn’t understand. Compared to the leopard, my language was mild and minty fresh.

Izumi sighed. “You’ve heard about it all, haven’t you?”

Leona growled. “Your wolves moved in. I don’t like wolves. They’re loud, and those wild all-weekend party’s…”

Izumi’s eyes widened as she protested. “They’re not like other werewolves. Their
Alpha
is a business man, not too old, only seventy though he looks twenty. Most of his pack are the same, even the bitches are very nice, a bit territorial, but nice.”

I pretended to be shocked. “Bitches? You used a bad word!”

“But that is the right word for female wolves. You know I wasn’t talking about humans. That would be wrong.”

I shot her a hard glower. “Go ahead and cuss. You’re a friggin’ demon, remember?”

My foot hit the pedal. Acceleration shoved me back against the seat. I left Izumi thoroughly scandalized by my suggestion, but not so scandalized that a barrage of snow balls didn’t whack my rear windshield.

She and I needed to have a serious discussion, but I was pressed for time; it would have to wait. Suburbs gave away to the highway which dropped me into downtown L.A among the
skyscrapers. They were much alike; tall with too much glass
and little of nature. Trees were in short supply. Everything should have a little green. A park here or there wouldn’t hurt. Not that Leona needed a tree to piss against when there were panhandlers around. The city’s so beautiful at night when the predators came out to play.

I threaded traffic, tearing past high-rises until I got to a dwarf building that was only six stories—a restaurant hotel combination that had only endured to modern times because it was a historic landmark. Almost a miracle, I wanted, and found, a parking space.

I turned to the leopard. “Okay, Leona, stay hidden and don’t eat any one … if you can help it.”

“Yeah, I know; but you should remember that there’s a whole lot I can’t help.”

“Just don’t get blood on my car.”

I left the car and went over to the double glass doors. Inside, were white marble floors, art deco chandeliers, and walls painted a soft shade of sage. An oversized redwood receptionist desk blocked my way. I’d have to move right or left to reach the elevators, or the wide staircase that circled up to a second floor restaurant.

Looking like linebackers, two men in dark suits were lined up on each side of the desk, and one stood behind. Two more were at the elevators, making seven. Bulging coats showed they were packing large weapons.

While I got the lay of the land, Leona padded up to my side. None of the men saw her or reacted to her voice, “They’re carrying demon slaying weapons, protective charms. Nice.” She didn’t say the word like she meant it.

The man standing directly behind the desk nodded.
“
Mr. Deathwalker … is it? You’re expected. Come this way.”

The linebackers let me pass, and their boss walked me to the elevator. The call button was lit. The elevator was coming. The cage opened and I went in with Leona. We were allowed to ride up alone, but they had a camera on us. Barely moving my mouth I said, “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”

“Not enough people around to keep me entertained. Besides, I don’t want to be the one to tell Old Man why you have seven new demon slaying weapons.”

“And you figure there will be more bloodshed wherever I’m going.”

“Yeah, that too. Waste not, want not.”

At least the music in the el
evator was Japanese classic and
not some shitty
,
overplayed advertising jingle. The doors opened on a penthouse foyer. Four more guards with demon slaying weapons greeted us. This time, the weapons were out in plain sight. The guards parted to give access. I went through the penthouse door, Leona pressing against my leg. One of the men followed me into a sprawling living room with cathedral ceilings. On a couch in front of the fire place, Old Man sat with a tiny cup of steaming sake, talking to a Japanese man with a high forehead and white hair on the back and sides. His face was lined, and grown lax with age.

Seeing me with the guard, the Japanese man beckoned. The guard turned and left me instead of trying to throw me out—which would have been really fun. It was hard to remember that I was here to protect these people from what the guards couldn’t handle.

I strolled through a light crowd, drawing curious glances from everyone. I paid more attention to the layout, looking for weak spots. The carpet was soft red which was good if I needed to do something messy like a blood spell. One side wall was all glass. The room had too many openings, but solid wood tables laden with food could quickly be overturned and used for cover. There was a staircase to the left that went up to loft. That was a problem if someone took to the high ground with hostages. Double doors beyond the stairs were heavy, probably opened to an outside terrace.

I reached the fireplace and stopped in a casual slouch, hands in pockets. I nodded. “Hey, Old Man, you’re here too?”

“Yes, I wanted to make sure Hiro knew, even though you may not have been born to our clan, that you are our best.” Old Man never took his eyes off the leaping flames. I wondered at his fascination seeing as water was his true element.

Calling him by first name, not standing or even making eye contact while talking; these two have known each other for a long time.

I nodded to our client. “Hello, Mr. Kirishima, I am Caine Deathwalker, and I’ll be saving your family’s collective ass.”

I felt annoyance radiating off them like the heat from the fire. I grinned to show how little he cared, and took a chair next to Old Man. Caine said, “So, what are we dealing with and what have you done to get it pissed at you?”

Mr. Hiro rose from his chair and stepped away from the fire place to face both Old Man and me.

“The vile beast is what you westerners call a succubus. As for how this came to be a problem, my grandfather contracted that she would make all other rival companies fail gloriously when competing against us. In return, she could take one of his grandchildren. He thought it a great deal.” Hands shoved in the pockets of his dark blue three-piece suit, Hiro sounded angry.

“So, she wants your precious daughter and now you’re going back on your grandfather’s word.”

He unpocketed a hand to loosen the perfect knot of his tie. “I’d had no say bout the deal, only finding out when it was too late. I run the clan now. I will run it my way. I prefer to give you my gold instead of handing my only child over to that creature. She wants to make my girl into a succubus as well. That is a shame I could never bear.”

I pretended to be undecided. “You’re still breaking a contract. I don’t know if I want to be part of that.”

Old Man was getting angry, but hiding it well. He looked at me with incandescent eyes and said, “You can have seventy-five percent, and no more.

Old Man knew he’d raised me like a demon; there was no reason not to push for even more. After all, it’s greed that makes hell go round.

“Ha, Old Man you’re trying to make a deal with a deal breaker? You know a succubus with a valid contract is going
t
o be a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Hiro took a step over to me. He leaned in close, as if we alone were talking. He said, “If you keep my immediate family alive, I will give you my family’s sword.”

“I have a sword.”

Hiro locked eyes with
Old Man
, and then spoke to me, “It is Muramasa’s last and greatest forging. All his other swords are trash before it.”

In the 1600’s, Japanese sword smith Muramasa created the greatest swords of his day, but he was ill-tempered and unbalanced. His insanity seeped into his blades, giving them life and a thirst for blood and war.
According to legend, once drawn, a Muramasa blade has to draw blood before it can be returned to its scabbard—if not, the cursed blade causes its owner to wound or even kill himself. Such a blade could well shatter the one I owned.
I felt myself getting hard at the thought of holding it.