Red Moon Demon (Demon Lord) (30 page)

I
remembered the
ghost dragon I’d met in
Kellyn
’s treasure room, back in Fa
erie
.
What had he said to me? Oh, yeah!

I am Wyrmmfrey of the Ice Clan. Call on me seven times, and this debt will be paid.

I warmed the tat for my
Dragon Voice
,
barely
tolerating the sensation of someone sawing me in half. My words boomed,
“Wyrmmfrey of the Ice Clan, I call you to answer your debt.”

A blue-white swirl of mist formed before me, a serpentine shape that was
as
translucent
as the stairwell
. He fixed the silvery blaze of his eyes on me. His whiskered snout opened. “I answer, as I am pledged. What do you wish?”

“Tired of being a ghost? I’ve got a new body for you.” I gestured at the surrounding dimensional overlap.

His head swiveled. “Hmmm. Not bad. Not a dragon, but not bad. But I’m not going to owe you for this.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Think of it as an act of friendship.”

The dragon spirit snorted, glaring suspiciously at me
. “No strings attached?”

“None,” I said. “Enjoy.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”
The ghost expanded as billows of white, soaking into the altered space around me. The tongue under me froze in place. The brick walls were startled into motionlessness as well. The fangs were no longer moving, locking against each other. Then the monster snake retreated, its body possessed, hijacked by the dragon ghost. The stairwell became its usual self, running upward as originally laid out.

I called to the milling bodies still jamming the
hallway
door. “Danger’s over. Stop screwing around, and let’s go.”

I started up the stairs
,
staying
close to the wall. The
m
e
n
behind me followed my example. A
few floors up
,
one of the m
e
n opened
a
door only to be sucked in
by screaming winds. Winds clawed us. I
threw myself to the railing, hanging on with all my strength. T
he
heavy fire
door
slammed
shut
.
The wind died.
I looked at the men with me.

Down to fourteen now
.

I said, “Are you guys done being stupid?”

Osamu glared at his partners, then faced me, bowing deeply. “Apologies,
Deathwalker-san
.”

“It’s Caine, remember?”

“
Hai
,
Deathwalker-san
.”

I sighed.
Japanese, go figure…

A few floors higher
, the air wavered. I held up a hand in warning, pausing to take in the new threat.
Like a 3-D
projection, a piss-yellow image
of the warlock appeared. H
is boots were a few inches off the floor, and he
held the necklace in his hand. He grinned.
“Caine, I’m not going to make it easy for you, but you do need to hurry.”

“Any special reason?” I asked.

His
yellow glow
expanded
, giving me a better view of his surroundings. He was on the roof, on the helipad.
Really, a rooftop fight, can you get any more cliché.

Off to the side
,
behind him, I saw Vivian. She’d made good time getting to the roof, not that it had done her much good. She was on her knees, hands behind her back, her chest heaving as she strained against … nothing.
Either invisible restraints were being used, or an illusion spell—if her mind was convinced she was bound, her body would act as if this were true.

Furious,
Vivian’s eyes
blazed a watery red
that
lack
ed
the rich
,
blood-hue of a
pure-blood
vampire like Gloria
.
The dhampyr
snarled
at me
,
“Don’t you dare help. I don’t need
anything from
a worm like
you.”

I s
hrugged. “Okay, if you’re sure
.
”

Salem
’s
smile died.
“You need to fight on, Caine. If I get tired of waiting, I’ll amuse myself with her. It won’t be pretty. She can take a lot of damage
, a lot more than a human.
”
He laughed. The sound stretched and thinned as the projection faded.

I growled at the warlock. “
D
amned bastard gets all the fun.”

THIRTY

“The only way out of an early grave

is past the shovel and flying dirt.”

—
Caine Deathwalker

“He’s on the roof,” I said. “And he’s right about one thing; we better do this quick. He’s infused his magic in the building. It’s fighting us, leaving him free to do other things. By giving up direct control, he’s left us with a powerful but unimaginative enemy that can be easily confused.”

Most of the men looked confused.
Sweat dripped off their faces. They smelled
of fear. That was good. Fear sharpens the senses, releases adrenaline. Adrenaline tweaks the muscles, helps you to survive.

I said, “Think of the building as a golem that we’re inside of.”

“Ah…!” That sound went around the group as the concept sank in at different speeds.

T
heir collective presence will continue to attract the dark magic. There are too many to protect with my cloaking magic. If I spread myself too thin, I’ll only endanger myself, and I’ve go to survive to get paid, or all this is meaningless.

My skin felt warm for a second, the flicker of warning that I get when my shield wants me to move. I stepped back, dodging a blunt-tipped spike of brick, designed to bludgeon more than stab. The guy behind me wasn’t so lucky. His spike hit at eye level. Half his skull was gone before he even had time to scream. The man behind him looked at the door to the floor we were on, and leaped to open it. There was a massive surge of fleeing men that left me in the stairwell with
Osamu and three others
.

Five of us now…

I pointed at the dead guy. “Take his guns and ammo, and let’s hustle. The only way out is up,” I said. This was good actually; the building would probably focus on the larger group and not come for us until they were all dead. Sad, really, but that’s the fate of red shirts; to die in battle so the intrepid hero can press on to glory.

We ran up the stairs. The activity drained me more than it should have because I was steadily feeding energy to my personal shield. Next best thing to a
spider sense
, but expensive.

We made several more flights. I didn’t expect to hear the screams of the men that had left us, and I didn’t, but I knew they were being made. In the rest of the building, there was more to attack you; cleaning closets with caustic chemicals, furniture that might take an instant dislike to you, drapery to entangle and choke. The possibilities were endless. Here, we only had to worry about…

The stairs above us started to jerk away from the wall like a living thing. I ran as fast as I could to get past the affected area. Osamu and the rest sprinted along. The last two didn’t make it, falling down the stairwell as the steps under their feet collapsed. Their screams echoed for a long time, as if each flight of stairs under them were collapsing in turn, expediting their plunge to the ground floor.

This isn’t good. I’m running out of human shields.

I flogged myself to keep the grueling pace.
Osamu
stayed close. He understood that following my lead was better than not doing so. He didn’t want to be a
red shirt.
I didn’t want that either. If he survived, I was considering hiring him away from Hiro. My house could use a live-in butler who wasn’t easily rattled. Of course, Leona and Old Man would have to approve.

We made good time, as nothing happened for a long time after that.

Then I noticed a vibration in the air. I felt the wall. It was there too. The stairs were developing a webbing of fine cracks. I had a feeling the rest of the staircase would soon be coming down, so I stopped at the next landing and pried at the fire door. It was locked. I shot the lock and pried again. It didn’t budge. I looked down. The cracks had reached our landing, and were widening.

Old Man’s hand emerged from my chest. His fingers were splayed. His palm pointed at the door. He was going to open it so I could save energy for the battle against Salem. I warned the guys still with me. “Get down low. I’m blasting the door, and there might be some blowback.”

They went a few steps down, pressing against the wall.
Osamu stared at the hand protruding from my chest. His face was white with fear, tense with strain, but he was holding himself together. The other guy had a crazy look in his eyes that I didn’t trust.

I backed from the door as light pooled in Old Man’s vertical palm. I looked away as the light intensified, shooting out writhing streamers of mystic purple lightning. The burning air boomed as the fire door blew off its hinges, crashing into the hallway beyond. The heat of the concussive backwash washed around my shield as it cranked up to high. The cost of the additional protection was a kick in the gut that sank me to my knees. I gasped for breath, catching myself on the trembling landing.

The concrete gave way.

I managed to grab the crumbling lip of what remained, and dangled a few feet from the open door. The stairs were falling out from under Osamu and the other man. They scurried up onto the ledge of the shattered landing. Osamu stopped by the door, reaching down to grab my left wrist and give me a hand.

The other man never paused, bolting through the doorway. He made one step as the top of the door frame fell, acquiring a sword’s razor edge that cut into the top of his skull, slicing down to both ears. His body flopped face first on the hall carpet which drank his blood.

Down to the two of us now.

Osamu had me up on the ledge by that time, but we couldn’t linger; the landing overhead was fracturing and pieces were raining on us. With Osamu inside my shield, we were both protected. But the ledge supporting us would go next in this vicious game being played. I leaped through, dragging Osamu along as we trampled the fallen body, and then stomped over the blown off door. It was half melted and scorched with a hole completely through its center.

Continuing on, nothing threatened us
.
That in itself was
suspicious.

The building’s probably working up a few special surprises.

We went on carefully, especially where there were open doors to rooms from which assorted things might pounce. The floor rippled, a slight distortion setting in. The walls wavered. The only lighting we’d seen was the red emergency lights over the exit behind us, and window light from the open doors. That changed as the overhead lights came on in the distance, the effect racing toward us, a sweep of lighting that killed all shadows, clearly showing us the next threat.

Nimble chairs and more sluggish desks turned a far corner. The animate furniture paused until the lights finished coming on. Then, like a panicked herd, the furniture stampeded down the hall toward us. Osamu opened fire winging two chairs and clipping off the leg of a desk that continued to amble toward, though with a more awkward gait.

I activated a fire spell, feeling as though my brain were expanding under enormous pressure, breaking my inner skull like the shell of an over-boiled egg. The sensation passed. I focused the fire I’d summoned on the carpet and the onrushing office furniture. A few floor lamps joined the herd, slithering along the wall, and I saw a coat rack, its upper branches transformed into meat hooks.

The burning carpet smoked heavily. The flames failed to deter the attacking herd.
Odd, no fire alarm. The sprinklers aren’t going on.
I chose a door at random, pulled Osamu in with me, and slammed the office door. I used a chair that showed no signs of life, wedging it up against the knob.

“Keep an eye on the furniture. Let me know if anything starts to act up.”

Osamu nodded. “Hai.” He slid a secretary’s desk over to help barricade the door, adding a filing cabinet and a trash can. The outside of the door shuddered as the herd beat against it, trying to get in.

I went to an inner door, kicked it open and peered in. It was an executive office with a wet bar, red leather couch, client chairs, a massive desk, and bookcases on one wall. The books were thick, leather-bound, and covered various subjects on the law.
A lawyer’s office, one who’s very successful. Too bad I don’t have time to search his files for useful dirt.
A wall of windows showed the cityscape beyond. Another door was open, probably a private wash
room.

I went in, careful of the door frame. It stayed attached. This looked like a dead end. We were cornered.

I looked up at the ceiling.
Maybe not
.

“Osamu, get in here.”

We dragged the red couch and put its back agaist the bookcase so it wouldn’t fall when we climbed up. Osamu helped me toss books off the shelves, creating a ladder to the false ceiling. I sat on top of the bookshelf and explained my plan. After popping a ceiling panel loose, I stuck my head into the crawlspace. This let me see that the false ceiling was mostly held up by wire. However, metal posts anchored one line of tiles, making a path we could use, if we were careful.

I pulled myself fully into the space, distributing my weight evenly on the metal frame held by the posts. I headed forward towards the adjoining office. “Osamu, distribute your weight on the frame like I’m doing, or you’ll fall through the tiles.”

“Hai!”

We crawled on until we were well past the wall, over the next office, then the next. Then I took a chance and punched a tile under me. Ah, perfect. A conference room table. This made the drop shorter and safer. Quieter too. I slipped through, keeping my feet under me, and landed with little noise.
Not the first time I’ve done this
.

Standing, I reached up and tried to ease Osamu down. This didn’t work very well, but the old guy was spry, landing light as a sparrow. I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise.

He grinned in silence.

We squatted and swung down off the table, onto charcoal gray carpeting. I glanced at the door to the hall. It was wide open. I whispered, “On the other side of the building, there’s another stairwell to the roof. I think we’re close enough that Salem will actually call off the building’s attack. He’ll want us on hand to flaunt his power, now that he’s cut down our numbers.”

Osamu nodded. We padded over to the door. I whispered, “On three, run like hell.” I held up three fingers, and folded them one at a time. When all were tucked in a fist, we leaped out and hauled ass, not bothering to look and se
e what the furniture was doing.

There was smoke in the air, burning my throat, but the sprinklers had finally decided to come on. We ran through the spray, listening to its hiss, and the wooden clatter of pursuing chairs and desks.

We hooked the corner, entering a hallway where the sprinklers were still off. Using a PPK, I shot a vacuum cleaner that was lying in wait, kicking it over as we passed. Osamu gave it an extra stomp in passing. We raced on to the next stairwell. I threw open the door and froze.

Salem stood there, or rather, another muddy yellow image of him. He wore the necklace and held a knife. The blade dripped blood. “About time you guys got here.”

“You’ve been having fun,” I said.

He grinned and winked. “I don’t think the little lady would call it that.”

I was aware of Osamu, standing angled so he could keep an eye on the corridor behind us. Otherwise, he let me handle things.

“Get out of the way,” I said. “We’ll come up and entertain you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Salem said. “But you’ve got a final hurdle to leap before you get to me.”

“What now?” I asked.

He laughed, the sound sharp as a fang, beating at us like bat wings. And then he was gone, and we saw what hid behind his mirage—all eighteen of the men we’d lost, many of them mangled to the point where they barely looked human. Blood soaked their black suits, giving them a rusty sheen. Their guns were lost. Their wounds gaped. The four from the elevator were crushed lumps humping across the threshold, more tumble weed than anything else. They got trampled by the men behind them that lurched our way in search of prey.

Osamu and I brought our guns to bear. My PPKs were on full automatic, spraying a withering fire of explosive rounds. Anything other than zombies would have gone down and stayed down. These didn’t, though I was chipping away at them, blowing out chunks left and right.

I growled in frustration. “I hate zombies.”