Read Online Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) by Morgan Blayde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morgan Blayde
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Deathwalker
The flash grenades detonated; low level concussions and blinding bursts. My protective shield flared, filtering the effect as I lunged to the side—eyes squeezed shut, head reflexively turned away. I drew both PPKs. Somewhere behind me, the Fenris was out of my line of fire so cutting loose wasn’t a problem. My guns bucked in my hand, spewing death. I fanned the shots, hearing them tear hell out of my workstation. That grieved me, but things could be replaced easier than my life. I didn’t have a tattoo for that.
Note to self: See if Red Fang can whip up a bounce-back-from-the-dead spell.
Yelling to be heard over the gunfire, Achill clamped a hand on my left wrist, “He’s gone, Caine. You can stop now.”
Running out of rounds, I did stop. “How can you tell?” My eyes were open, blinking, spots of color obscuring fine detail as I peered across the armory. His eyes were even more sensitive. He shouldn’t have been able to see any better than me.
He released my arm. “Air’s gone clean. He’s dropped down whatever rabbit hole he came in through.”
“Damn fey magic. I hate it when they do that.” I reloaded my weapon with clips from the armory, then whipped out my phone and speed-dialed the Old Man. “I need you down here, fast.”
He popped in next to me, making a small gust of displaced air, and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You called?”
I waved at the armory. “Intruder, Autumn fey.”
He pulled away from me. “Through my mystic barriers? Don’t be … son of a beast! There’s a tunnel here.”
“Told you,” I said.
“Just a suggestion,” Achill said, “but if I were a water mage, I might conjure up a small flood and drown the rat in his own burrow.”
My eyes were recovering, but the blurry mist lingered, becoming pearlescent white with a hint of blue. Smelling moisture in the air, I knew there really was a rolling mist in the basement. Pale clouds formed and took on a bruised look, bluish purple strobing with little electrical flashes inside. I backed toward the elevator. Achill kept pace. I slammed the call button. The elevator door opened. Stepping in with Achill, I called back to the Old Man, “We’ll leave this to you.”
“Try not to break California off from the mainland,” Achill yelled.
I thought of Atlantis, Old Man’s hometown, and shuddered slightly.
He muttered to himself, but his booming tones easily carried. “Destroy one ancient civilization and you never hear the end of it.”
The clouds around Old Man dumped torrents of water. A roaring wind funneled the deluge into the tunnel. The closing door cut off our view. Achill and I were lifted to the first floor, making the trip in nervous silence. We emerged behind the bar. William was sitting over by the fireplace, nursing a draft beer.
“I’ll put that on your tab,” I said.
He took a gulp, shooting me the finger.
Freeloading ass.
Achill went around the bar and crossed the room to join him, taking one of the red leather wingback chairs. I fixed a fruit punch and rum—no umbrella—and took my first sip as the door opened and Kimberley swept in wearing a lime green sundress and matching sneakers. Still in reaper black, Haziar faithfully dogged her steps, his grim, dark eyes stabbing in all directions, hunting for danger. He kept one hand on his sheathed sword.
Kimberley stopped between two barstools, peering at me across the bar. Her purple eyes were clouded with concern. “Mister Deathwalker, when do you plan on starting this job?”
“If the werekitties turn up soon, I’ll probably hit the road in the morning.”
“You’re taking werecats to Sacramento?” she asked.
I nodded, setting my glass down. “They’ll get me into the cat community to see the wereliger. He’s a big piece of the puzzle that has to come together up there.”
“You should be on the phone, calling around for them, not guzzling liquor,”
The flash grenades detonated; low level concussions and blinding bursts. My protective shield flared, filtering the effect as I lunged to the side—eyes squeezed shut, head reflexively turned away. I drew both PPKs. Somewhere behind me, the Fenris was out of my line of fire so cutting loose wasn’t a problem. My guns bucked in my hand, spewing death. I fanned the shots, hearing them tear hell out of my workstation. That grieved me, but things could be replaced easier than my life. I didn’t have a tattoo for that.
Note to self: See if Red Fang can whip up a bounce-back-from-the-dead spell.
Yelling to be heard over the gunfire, Achill clamped a hand on my left wrist, “He’s gone, Caine. You can stop now.”
Running out of rounds, I did stop. “How can you tell?” My eyes were open, blinking, spots of color obscuring fine detail as I peered across the armory. His eyes were even more sensitive. He shouldn’t have been able to see any better than me.
He released my arm. “Air’s gone clean. He’s dropped down whatever rabbit hole he came in through.”
“Damn fey magic. I hate it when they do that.” I reloaded my weapon with clips from the armory, then whipped out my phone and speed-dialed the Old Man. “I need you down here, fast.”
He popped in next to me, making a small gust of displaced air, and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You called?”
I waved at the armory. “Intruder, Autumn fey.”
He pulled away from me. “Through my mystic barriers? Don’t be … son of a beast! There’s a tunnel here.”
“Told you,” I said.
“Just a suggestion,” Achill said, “but if I were a water mage, I might conjure up a small flood and drown the rat in his own burrow.”
My eyes were recovering, but the blurry mist lingered, becoming pearlescent white with a hint of blue. Smelling moisture in the air, I knew there really was a rolling mist in the basement. Pale clouds formed and took on a bruised look, bluish purple strobing with little electrical flashes inside. I backed toward the elevator. Achill kept pace. I slammed the call button. The elevator door opened. Stepping in with Achill, I called back to the Old Man, “We’ll leave this to you.”
“Try not to break California off from the mainland,” Achill yelled.
I thought of Atlantis, Old Man’s hometown, and shuddered slightly.
He muttered to himself, but his booming tones easily carried. “Destroy one ancient civilization and you never hear the end of it.”
The clouds around Old Man dumped torrents of water. A roaring wind funneled the deluge into the tunnel. The closing door cut off our view. Achill and I were lifted to the first floor, making the trip in nervous silence. We emerged behind the bar. William was sitting over by the fireplace, nursing a draft beer.
“I’ll put that on your tab,” I said.
He took a gulp, shooting me the finger.
Freeloading ass.
Achill went around the bar and crossed the room to join him, taking one of the red leather wingback chairs. I fixed a fruit punch and rum—no umbrella—and took my first sip as the door opened and Kimberley swept in wearing a lime green sundress and matching sneakers. Still in reaper black, Haziar faithfully dogged her steps, his grim, dark eyes stabbing in all directions, hunting for danger. He kept one hand on his sheathed sword.
Kimberley stopped between two barstools, peering at me across the bar. Her purple eyes were clouded with concern. “Mister Deathwalker, when do you plan on starting this job?”
“If the werekitties turn up soon, I’ll probably hit the road in the morning.”
“You’re taking werecats to Sacramento?” she asked.
I nodded, setting my glass down. “They’ll get me into the cat community to see the wereliger. He’s a big piece of the puzzle that has to come together up there.”
“You should be on the phone, calling around for them, not guzzling liquor,”
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