Shadow Blade Page 4

  “Thanks, Morey. If you feel up to leaving the tank, come take a turn with me out on the dance floor. It’ll be fun.” Fun in a shocking-everyone-within-two-feet sort of way.

  Morey just grinned at her before sinking back to the bottom of the tank. He obviously preferred the simple life of his eel form to his walking, talking one. At that moment Kira couldn’t blame him.

  She turned back to the coat-check girl. If the new girl thought her most dangerous weapon was the assault charm, Kira wasn’t about to educate her. Of course, Demoz knew that Chasers didn’t hand over their Lightblades, not even in death. “Are we good?”

  When the girl nodded, Kira headed for the main entrance to the floor. The doors were thick reinforced steel, spelled to muffle the sounds beyond. Above the door—written in flowing silver script—hung the words: the choice is yours.

  Kira paused as her control momentarily wavered. Sometimes the choice was die or die screaming.

  She placed her gloved hands against the doors, feeling the vibrations pulsing through from the other side. There were days when she wondered what sort of hits she’d get if she dared touch anything in the DMZ without her gloves on. But you didn’t have to touch a stove to know it could burn you.

  A bass beat slammed into her as she pushed the doors open, startling her heart into an attempt to match the frenetic beat. Bare bulbs hung along the T-shaped corridor, becoming brighter to the left and darker to the right.

  Just because she was feeling ornery, Kira swung to the right, the Shadow side. She pushed open another door and the music hit her full blast.

  The DMZ flowed like a high-tech miniature Roman Colosseum on the inside, three levels ringing a pit that encircled a raised stage. Inviolate, an industrial Goth band, performed in sonic frenzy on the raised stage at the center of the DMZ. A seething mass of Normals and Not-Normals moshed in the pit surrounding and below the stage.

  The Normals would be lucky if all they got were broken bones from their foray into the pit. Since they had to sign a waiver before going in, Kira wouldn’t do anything about it. Free will and all. At least they’d get a T-shirt if they made it out alive.

  The Light entrance, appropriately bright, was directly opposite where she stood. She noted several Light Adepts—magic workers who preferred to work on the Light side of the balance—and messengers. Almost all the full humans and quite a few hybrids congregated in the center, the club’s clientele mimicking the Universal Balance. Some people just preferred not to mix, and some people liked the middle ground.

  She needed information, and staying on the Light side wouldn’t do it. She peeled off her gloves as Inviolate broke into “Flatline,” a driving, frenetic song of insanity that she often hummed when she went out Chasing.

  “You lost, little girl?”

  Kira turned as a pair of half-demons came up to her. “Not even close, boys.”

  “Funny.” The tall one gave her a measured look, then smiled, revealing an extra-wide row of very pointed teeth. “You look lost to me.”

  The short one laughed. “Nice one, Lonnie.”

  Kira realized they had no clue she was a Chaser. Or maybe Lonnie was so hyped up on something that he didn’t care. Or, most likely, he was just stupid.

  They were beginning to draw attention. Good. Kira held her hand aloft. “Look at my hand.”

  The man looked at her hand, then back at her. “So?”

  “Not with human sight,” she said patiently. Maybe he was too stupid to live. “Really look at my hand.”

  With a blink, she brought her extrasense forward, felt it when others did the same. Even if she couldn’t tell they’d recognized her power in any other manner, she’d have known by the way those in the circle dropped back.

  Lonnie’s mouth dropped open as he stepped back, staring at her hand. Everyone with some sort of inherent magic could see the pale blue glow that surrounded her hand, the tendrils of magic that wisped from her fingers. Light magic had infused her body since her birth, or so she’d been told. It had only gotten stronger the longer she lived, though it was now concentrated primarily in her hands.

  “Lonnie.” She made sure she had his attention before speaking again. “I didn’t come here looking for trouble.” Liar. “Don’t start none, won’t be none. But if you bring it, I’ll end it.”

  The circle edged further away. Lonnie unzipped a wide grin, showing more teeth than the average human could. “Hey, ain’t nothing but a thang,” he said, lifting his hands in a harmless gesture. “I ain’t starting nothing.”

  Kira pulled her glove back over her hand. The tension on the floor eased considerably. Instantly two bodyguards built like defensive linemen on steroids sandwiched her in. “Come with us, please.”

  Without a word, Kira followed the first guard as he cut a wide swath through the crowd. Murmurs rose as they passed, some worried, most curious. She’d needed to do something to shake the crowd up; it was the only way she’d get Demoz to cooperate. Her standoff with Lonnie had probably done little more than whet Demoz’s unusual appetite, but she didn’t have time for anything more to his personal preference. She wasn’t in a mood to be low-key, not with every passing minute chilling the trail of Bernie’s killer. If anyone in this crowd knew who killed Bernie, Demoz would find out.

  The guards led her behind the bar and up a flight of stairs. Another guard blocked the head of the stairs. He was so identical to the two escorting her that Kira wondered if they’d hatched from the same clutch. The third man stepped back, allowing them to pass.

  One smoked-glass wall—mirrored on the club side—of the large office overlooked the dance floor. The room was furnished in the same black leather and gunmetal as the lobby. A massive slab of clear quartz crystal, the largest specimen she’d ever seen, served as a table between the guest chairs. Demoz probably used it as a balancing mechanism between the Light and Shadow guests who entered his office, but she knew it could also serve as a magic amplifier for those with the ability to use it.

  “Kira,” Demoz rose to his feet as they entered. “You do know how to make an entrance.”

  “You know what they say, Demoz. If you’re going to do it, do it in style.”

  “True, true.” The big man regarded her, his skin black as tires and just as thick. If the Michelin Man had been dipped in tar—and dressed by Armani—Demoz would be his twin. The only traces of color on his plump body were the thin silver stripes in the fabric of his very expensive suit. He gestured her to a club chair facing the one-way mirror that overlooked the club’s floor. “But showing so much skin—and removing your gloves? That could have been considered a provocative act.”

  She knew he didn’t mean sexually provocative. Demoz didn’t care about sex—at least she didn’t think he did and she definitely had no plans to find out. The DMZ strictly enforced their neutrality, placing them in a delicate position straddling both sides of the Universal Balance.

  Kira’s provocation was, technically, pulling a weapon. It violated the house rules, regardless of who pulled the weapon or why. Given that her touch could be deadly to some and hurtful to most, Kira had taken a chance going onto the main level with so much skin showing, even with her extrasense muted. She’d taken the chance anyway, betting that Demoz would be waiting and feeding.

  Kira adjusted her remaining weapons, then eased into the chair. “Then I suppose I should thank you for coming to get me—although I know you must’ve gotten something out of it for yourself.”

  “You know it.” Demoz smacked his lips then released a delighted, deep-throated laugh. “The fear you invoked was delicious. The adrenaline alone fed me quite well.”

  The psychic vampire turned to the glass, staring down at the crowd. “The fear tasted almost as good as the lust you cause when you dance. I suppose, however, that’s like trying to compare filet mignon to prime rib.”

  “If you say so.” Kira crossed her arms. He didn’t really expect her to be flattered, did he? She wasn’t a girly girl by any stretch, but comparin
g her to cuts of beef wouldn’t win Demoz brownie points with her.

  Most informants liked being paid in money. Not Demoz. No, he preferred being paid in emotional energy. But then, what psychic vampire didn’t?

  He turned his bulk away from the window. “The fear is, regrettably, fading now. It feels as if a few of them have moved to anger, however. I don’t believe that hybrid appreciated you showing him up in front of his friends. He doesn’t have your best interests at heart tonight.”

  “Why, Demoz, I didn’t think you cared.”

  The vamp grinned. “You are exquisite, Kira Solomon. I would miss you were you gone. Of course the psychic onslaught unleashed at the moment of your demise would certainly feed me for months.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Demoz, but I plan on sticking around for a little while longer.” Keeping her emotions on lockdown out of habit, she braced her elbows on the arms of the black leather chair, steepling her fingers. “Besides, I’ve already fed you tonight.”

  “Forgive me. How gauche to need your reminder.” He waved his perfectly manicured hand. Immediately the inner door opened to admit a young woman dressed head to foot in a hooded dress the color of opals. In her arms rested a silver tray bearing several bottles, each emitting a pale blue light. Purified water of such high quality human bottlers couldn’t come close to it. It always made Kira wonder exactly who else made it to Demoz’s private office, for him to keep a stash of Light-ready snacks on hand.

  Kira remained silent while the girl placed glasses on the low table. She looked to be in her early twenties, her features calling to mind Pacific Islander heritage. When Kira caught her eye, the girl smiled briefly. Kira sat back, satisfied the girl wasn’t a prisoner, though she did wonder how the girl was able to remain so Light-pure in the DMZ.

  Kira knew that most of Demoz’s wait staff weren’t psychic grazers. Like most vampires, he didn’t like competition, preferring to keep for himself the emotional smorgasbord his patrons represented.

  The waitress left. Kira felt a tendril of power on the edge of her consciousness and swatted it away easily. “Demoz, really, stop trying to cop a feel.”

  Demoz threw back his head and laughed. “How can I resist you, Kira Solomon? You’d do better to demand a shark to stop swimming.”

  He took the seat opposite hers. “Tell me what’s going on. It’s not like you to be so blatant when you visit. You are obviously on a mission. What information are you looking for today?”

  “You already know why I’m here,” she said, keeping a tight lock on her mental shields. It was one thing to allow Demoz to feed off the emotional reaction she caused; it was quite another to let him feed off her directly. If she showed any sort of expressive display, he’d work the gap until it opened wide and the feelings flowed freely—like a blood vampire sending anticoagulants into a vein.

  “I can do many things, Kira, but reading the thoughts behind your gorgeous brown eyes isn’t one of them. Our usual meetings happen on Thursdays. What couldn’t wait until then?”

  “The same as always. Information.”

  Demoz raised an eyebrow, his steel-gray eyes curious, guarded. “What information couldn’t wait until our regular meeting?”

  “Someone unleashed a seeker demon tonight. I want to know who.”

  “A seeker demon?”

  “Yeah.” Kira had noted the slight widening of his eyes before he’d spoken. Of course Demoz knew something. Demoz always knew something. She tried a test. “The Commission lost a handler tonight.”

  “How terrible for you,” Demoz clucked, his sympathetic tone completely at odds with the assessing glint of his eyes. “I felt the moment of his passing. A tragedy. Was it someone you knew?”

  “This is my territory,” Kira continued, ignoring his question. “A seeker demon killed the handler, but none of the skanks around here are strong enough to manage a seeker demon, are they?”

  “Of course not, which makes me wonder if your information is indeed correct.”

  “It’s an unimpeachable source,” Kira stated. “Who’s strong enough to control a seeker demon, Demoz?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Really?” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Are you telling me that when you felt the moment of his passing, you knew he was a male handler but you couldn’t tell he was slain at the hands of a seeker demon? You’re getting sloppy in your old age.”

  The vampire’s eyes tightened. “I haven’t reached old age yet.”

  “But you certainly want to, right?” It wasn’t a threat, not really.

  “Kira, you’re the most pragmatic of the Chasers I’ve known. I have little doubt that you’d dispatch me if my usefulness waned.”

  “Not without a reason.” She cocked her head, studying the outwardly complacent vampire. “Is there a reason?”

  “Hardly. I enjoy life too much to get on the wrong side of any of my clients.”

  Kira noted his hesitation. “But?”

  “But.” Demoz sighed. “Something’s going on. I don’t yet know what it is, but all signs point to a heavy hitter coming to town.”

  “An Avatar?”

  Demoz actually looked over his shoulder, as if her saying the word would call the being out. Finally he nodded.

  “Where?”

  The vampire shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  “What do the Fallen want? Why is one of them here in its Avatar host?”

  “They’re tracking something. No one will say what or who it is, but they’ve got grunts all over the place looking for information. All I do know is that your opposition’s nervous and when they get nervous—”

  “Bad shit happens.” She suppressed a sigh. “The question is, how bad is bad?”

  Demoz spread his hands. Maybe he didn’t know what was going on. Maybe he feared telling her more. As much as he professed a fondness for her, Demoz wouldn’t hesitate to throw her to the wolves if it protected his own thick skin. It was all about maintaining Balance.

  Most Chasers wouldn’t associate with someone who was ostensibly the enemy and the Commission certainly frowned on it. Kira didn’t care. Not all humans were good and not all hybrids and demons were evil. As long as you didn’t trust him, Demoz was useful. And, she had to admit, endearing in a suck-your-heart-out sort of way.

  “This handler, he was close to you, wasn’t he?”

  “Doesn’t matter if he was close to me or not, Demoz. He was an innocent. I don’t care how high I have to go, but I’ll find the being responsible.”

  Demoz stared at her, in that still, nonliving way that all vampires had. “Are you sure you want to go down this path, Kira Solomon?” he asked at last, his voice soft. “You may not like what you find at the end of it.”

  “I’m sure I won’t.” She stood. “But I’m a Shadowchaser. Going down the dark path is my job.”

  “I would advise you to take care when you step outside, sweet Kira,” Demoz said. “My protection doesn’t extend beyond these walls.”

  “Neither does your neutrality,” she reminded him. “Don’t worry; I’ll wait until I’m out of the parking lot before drawing blood.”

  Chapter 4

  Kira kept her word, not that it mattered much. Lonnie and some of his friends caught her about half a block from the DMZ, their bikes circling hers. Her Buell could outrun their glorified mopeds easily, even though it was built like a tank and weighed nearly as much. But driving all over the city would do nothing but waste time and gas and make her cranky. They were asking for it and she would be happy to give it to them—but she really didn’t have much time to play.

  Going to see Demoz had been a gamble that didn’t pay off as she’d hoped it would. Not only had she wound up with minimal information—that an Avatar was in town looking for something, information that might or might not be connected to Bernie and the dagger—the wager had cost her a couple of spells. Worse, it had cost her time. Every moment she didn’t spend chasing Bernie’s killer was another advantage for wh
oever had killed him. With nothing else to go on, she’d have to return to the alley and hope Gilead was done with the cleanup but had still left enough metaphysical evidence that she could pick up a trail. The sooner she got back to the scene of the crime, the more likely the chances she’d find some sort of lead.

  The halflings tried to pen her in as she headed toward Peachtree Street

  . As if. She’d learned a thing or two from some of the best stunt riders in the country and these idiots were totally amateur. Dropping her visor, Kira bent low over her handlebars, calling her power. Blue light flared from her bare hands, spilling onto the handgrips and down through the frame. It was the only warning she intended to give them. Not her fault if they ignored it.

  They ignored it. One of Lonnie’s buddies, grinning and whooping and looking eerily like a hyena, made a grab for the clutch when he got close enough. Her power flared. Hyena Boy’s hand flew in one direction while he and his bike went careening in another.

  One down, three to go.

  At midnight, North Avenue

  , which ran east to west, was largely deserted. Smart cops gave the DMZ and its clientele a wide berth—it was just safer and saner that way. The closer they got to Peachtree Street

  , the more likely Normal police would be on patrol.

  Kira could see the three remaining bikers in her mirrors, too stupid or too mad at her for embarrassing them in the club to go back for their fallen friend. With her extrasense guiding the bike, she dropped her left hand to tap a panel open and pulled out a modified Glock 19. Normal ammunition didn’t down hybrids permanently and despite her irritation, she didn’t want to feed her power to the bullets in order to kill them. Killing required too much paperwork. Being shot still hurt like a bitch, no matter what you were, and she didn’t mind hurting them at all. “Possible wounding” didn’t entail filling out a form and the hybrids would heal soon enough.

  Movement in the right mirror caught her eye; Lonnie had decided to make his move. Kira’s lips curled. “Time to end this.”