The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers (15 page)

"It's a good repellent," Max said, shattering the silence, nearly
causing me to fall down the last six steps.

"What?" I asked, grasping for the banister. "The
flashlight?" If so, I wanted a bigger one.

"The iron," he said, as if I already knew.

"Are we talking about demons?" I asked, reaching the concrete
floor of the prison basement.

Max flipped on the lights, blinding me with their brightness. "How much
did you have to drink at that club, Lizzie?"

"Geez, nothing!" I said, shielding my eyes, willing for them to adjust
faster. I blinked several times while Max stood waiting, impatience written
across his angled features.

"What would we be discussing if it
wasn't
demons?" He
demanded.

Evidently nothing, which was peachy with me.

"Okay," I said, giving my eyes a final rub, and the orb another
check. It hovered off my right shoulder, eerily alive against the stained
concrete walls. They'd been aqua once and still were in some places. In others,
large chunks of paint peeled away like dead skin on the floor. A massive network
of pipes loomed overhead. "Start from the top."

Max scowled. Thank goodness he assumed my ignorance in steel making rather
than in demon slaying, because he said, "I'm talking about the steel in
this place—the bars, the doors, the grates, the holding cells. Steel is
made from iron."

"And iron repels succubi." I tried to make a statement, rather
than ask.

"That I can guarantee," he said, shooting me a look that told me
he'd been starting to wonder.

Join the club.

"This way," he said, leading me through what had been the kitchen
laundry. The machines had been torn out of the walls long ago, leaving shadows
of bare concrete and rusted pipes thrusting from the walls. "The older
steel down here has an unusually low carbon count," Max said over his
shoulder. "It gives us an even higher concentration of iron. Believe me,
we need it."

Iron repelled succubi. Nice to know. If we got out of here, I was going to
order Uncle Phil a pair of iron underpants. Double thick.

I watched Max's wide back, the sliced shirt flowing against his muscles as
he moved. Max could write
The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers
with
his eyes closed. Of course,.we'd have to rename it.

Burying the urge to ask more, I followed him through the labyrinth. Too bad
I needed him to think I was badder than I was. For now at least.

But I couldn't resist one giant presumption, based on the thick silver cross
he wore. "And succubi are attracted to silver."

"No. Platinum."

"So that's a platinum cross?"

He stopped.

"You have holes in your shirt," I reminded him.

His suspicion faded, but it didn't leave entirely. "I find it's easier
when they come to me," he said tightly.

"Do they?" I asked, unable to imagine what a horrible life that
would be.

"Sometimes," he replied.

Max led me into another hallway, then stopped in front of a set of massive
steel doors. In fact, I realized as I took in the whole of the place, the
cramped hallway consisted of nothing but door upon door, at least twenty, down
to a dead end. The overhead pipes didn't even reach this far into the
underbelly of the prison.

"The hole," he explained. "It was put out of commission long
before they ever modernized the place. Lucky for me," he said with a
little too much relish. "Each of these babies is a perfect steel box."

The wards in this place were amazing. I didn't even feel them until I
touched the door nearest me. It stung like dry ice.

"Is this where the invasion starts?" I asked.

Max laid his hand, palm down against the door, hissing at the pain,
welcoming it. "This is where it ends."

Yeah, well I liked things spelled out better than that. "What do you
want?"

He straightened like a Marine, his intensity admirable and frightening at
the same time. "I need both you and your twin."

"I don't have a twin," I answered.

"Damn it, slayer," he snapped. "This is no time to bargain.
It is your obligation, your destiny to destroy these creatures. If not, you're
going to see a slaughter the likes of which you can't imagine. And if you think
you're safe because you don't come from around here, think again. These demons
will spread like the plague. Rest assured, if you don't give your blood and
guts to stop it, I'll kill you myself."

With a roar, he yanked the door clear open.

I didn't even have time for a
holy Sheboygan
. Claws and teeth
extended, the succubus screeched for me. I ducked and flung a switch star,
catching her in the throat as icy lips descended onto mine. She exploded into a
cloud of gray ash, but not before I felt her begin to tease out my essence, or
was it my soul?

I rolled, crunching my shoulder into the wall as I grabbed another switch
star, ready to throw. When I realized no more demons were coming for me, I
leapt to my feet.

Nothing else lived and breathed in the corridor, except a smug-looking Max.
"I thought so," he said.

Adrenaline coursed through me. "What the hell are you doing?" I
demanded. I wanted to scream, punch the wall, throttle him.

"I had to make sure you were who I thought you were," he said
simply.

Oh. Sure. Righty-o. "And if I wasn't?" Or if I'd had a bad day? Or
if my fingers had been too sweaty? Or if I'd
sneezed
at the wrong
time?

"Then you'd be dead." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"This is war, Lizzie. And I'm playing to win."

I wanted to scream as I shoved my switch star into my belt while keeping an
eye on him.

"That was my most powerful prisoner." He strode purposefully over
the ashes scattered on the concrete floor between us. "You're good,"
he remarked, as if we'd just played a round of golf.

"You're an asshole."

"Maybe, but I'm still alive."

My hacked-off state amused the man. Evidently, he'd been hanging out with
she-demons for too long. Whatever he wanted from me, he was going to have to
ask real friggin' nice from now on.

"Are you set?" he asked.

Suspicion rolled over me. "For what?" I barked, hitching my final
star.

"I've got more holding cells. Seventeen more demons. Want to go again
or do you want to tell me about your twin?"

Oh for the love of Pete. "You can't let it go, can you?"

He stared at me, dead serious. "This is war, Lizzie."

"Fine," I shouted. If we didn't need him in this world, I'd
switch-star him myself.

I blew out a breath.
Chill out. Forget that he launched a soul-stealing
demon at your head
.

It was the first time I'd felt the urge to punch another human being. It
would feel good. I knew it. But it wasn't me. None of this was me. What did I
do in preschool when I needed to calm down? I counted to ten.

"What are you doing?" He demanded.

"I'm counting to ten!" I screamed.

"Oh." A smile quirked on his lips. "Well, that seems to be
working."

I ignored him and launched into the truth. Screw him if he didn't believe
it. "I wasn't born to be a demon slayer," I began.

"But you are the exalted—"

"Shut up and let me finish!" Criminy. No wonder this guy had to
date she-demons.

I took a calming breath. "Every three generations, my family produces
twin slayers," I explained.

"Of course. You and…" he said.

"Me and nobody. Try my mom and my aunt," I corrected. "And
while my mom's amazing family brought her up, loved her, flew instructors in
from all over the world to teach her everything she needed to know, she spent
the whole time figuring out a way to beat the rap."

"I've never heard of that."

"Well, now you have," I said, with a tenacious hold on my temper.
"My Aunt Celia died like a heroine while my mom passed her powers to me,
dumped me off to be adopted and thought it would be the end of our line.
Well," I said, my anger filtering to my mom, "until the next poor
saps a few generations later, which would actually be her great-granddaughters,
not that she cared."

Max watched me intently. "It must have been quite a shock as a child to
learn that this, we, existed."

Try last month. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

"And you have no twin," he said slowly.

I hoped it was finally sinking in. "That's what I've been trying to
tell you," I said, none too charitably. "Now you mind telling me
something?" I rubbed at the shoulder I'd jammed into the wall. "What
in sweet creation are you doing down here? You don't seem like the type to take
prisoners. Why are you letting these things live?"

He sized me up, as if deciding how much to tell me. Considering the heaping
helping of demon surprise he'd served back there, he'd better lay out the
facts.

"When I was young, I was more rash."

I had a girlfriend back in college who used to take forever to get to the
point, but this guy took the cake. "Abridged version, please," I
said, planting my back against the wall. No way were these things going to get
the jump on me again.

Max considered. "Maybe we should go someplace more comfortable,"
he said. "Come on. My quarters are right through here."

I couldn't have been more shocked if a demon flew out another door.
"You
live
with them?"

He didn't answer, leading me instead to an old guard's station turned
bedroom. At least that's what I assumed from the cot and stack of Campbell's
chicken noodle soup cans. The man existed like a monk. His narrow
military-issue camping, cot nudged against the far wall. Underneath, a steel
lockbox. Other than that, I doubted anything else in the fading office belonged
to Max. He'd better have an apartment somewhere.

The cot crackled under him as he took a seat. I preferred the old aluminum
desk in the corner. I planted my butt on a stack of papers, back to the wall,
and waited for him to speak first.

"I joined the fight when I was eighteen," he said, threading his
fingers together. "He wouldn't take me earlier."

"Who?"

"My trainer," he said smoothly, with reverence, "my
mentor."

Great. He had a friend. "Will he be here tonight?"

"No." Max stood and walked the short distance between his cot and
a map on the wall. "They killed him years ago," he said, absently
studying the map. Clusters of red and green pins dotted the map like a macabre
Christmas display.

"Are those kills?" I asked.

He nodded. "And captures. We fought together."

What sort of creature was this mentor? "He trained you to do
this?"

Max shot me a look that could have hung me up on the wall. "I didn't
need training in order to kill."

I felt myself tense. His admission shocked me at first. I didn't understand
how anyone could kill without remorse. Regret was a requirement. You were a
monster if you wanted to annihilate another living thing.

Until a horrible realization sprouted deep inside me. I didn't regret him
killing the demon at Pure. It was one less supernatural locust. Come to think
of it, I didn't regret the fifth-level demon I killed last week or the unholy
monster in the hallway outside. If I wasn't any better than Max, what did that
make me?

"Why don't you kill them?" I asked.

"I can't," he stated simply. "There are too many."

He hesitated, almost imperceptibly, but I caught it. "What else?"

We locked eyes. Max, deciding if it was worth the risk to tell me. Me,
wondering how much worse' it could get. But I wasn't about to go in without all
the facts. Never again.

"Tell me or I walk out of here," I said. He'd searched me out. He
needed me. I'd use it. Heck, it was the only thing I had.

He drew a red switch star, slower than before. Still, I took it as a threat.
I whipped out one of my own, the blades casting pink against the florescent
lights of our dubious retreat.

Max smirked. "I could kill you faster than you'd see it coming."

"Want to try?" I shot back. Damn. I was starting to sound like
Grandma.

He sheathed his star. I kept mine out.

"I can't kill them," he stated. "Not with stars, anyway. I'm
a half slayer. A hunter. I can stun them, but to kill them, I have to consume
them."

I found myself blinking uncontrollably, trying to process, "What are
you?"

He seemed surprised. "Don't you know? I'm a cambion."

Max said it as if I should understand—which meant I had to let him in
on a dirty secret of my own. "I have no idea what that means."

He frowned. "You're kidding me, right? I never picked you for an
elitist."

I wanted to cringe. But explaining would cost me more than I was willing to
give. "Are you going to enlighten me or what?"

He suddenly seemed much older. "My father was human," he began.
"My mother was one of them. She ate him."

"Oh," was all I could think to say.

He bristled. "I've taken out my share. My slayer killed more."

Holy h-e-double-hockey-sticks. "Where are they all coming from?"

"That's what I want to know," Max said.

He warmed when talking about his mission, which must in fact have been his
life's work. "We've never had this many. They're going to pull more in
before it's over." He watched me. "Something big is going down. Right
before it happens, I think they're going to try to break out their prisoners."

"Then what?" I croaked.

A predatory smile lit upon his mouth. "Well, slayer. Then all hell
breaks loose."

I couldn't imagine what one succubus could have done in Pure, much less an
army unleashed on Vegas.

For the first time, I wished I had a twin—or more power. I didn't know
if what I had would be enough.

Max paced, all business once again. "They're killing people, and
sucking up an unprecedented amount of energy. I think they're using it to open
up a portal, a one-way ticket to hell and back. Problem is, it's been impossible
to locate."