The Last Slayer Page 7

  All of us went outside to greet the dragonlord. The morning dew on the perfectly manicured lawn dampened the hem of my pants. The scent of rich soil mixed with smog.

  A lone dragonlord stood on his amphitere, a legless twin-winged dragon that hovered in the air. He held on to a leash, although perhaps “leash” wasn’t exactly the right term. It looked more like a strap to keep him from falling off his mount. It seemed superfluous, somehow. The man—well, the demigod—radiated a presence that made it impossible to imagine him falling.

  The morning sun cast harsh light into the golden orange sky. With each stroke of the amphitere’s wings, gusts of air blasted against us.

  Whatever I had been expecting, this really wasn’t it. Where were the other dragons? The entourage? The fireworks?

  As we walked toward him, the amphitere coiled its tail and settled onto the ground. Semangelaf jumped down lightly.

  Long blue hair flowed from his scalp like a turquoise waterfall. His skin was so pale I couldn’t tell where it ended and his white robe began. He had bottomless silver eyes with pinprick pupils that took in everything at a glance. Patches of frost suddenly covered the grass where he stepped, and the temperature seemed to drop about fifty degrees. My teeth wanted to chatter, and I wasn’t the only one feeling the cold.

  For all the frigidity, the supernatural had a stark beauty that was simply breathtaking. Even if his coloring had been normal, in his bearing, his perfection, no one would ever mistake him for human.

  Bill Swain walked briskly toward us from the other side of the lawn, an air of money and pedigree accompanying him like a pure-blooded French poodle. He looked exceptionally good for his age. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve pegged him for a man in his early forties, almost two decades below his true age. I guess being the CEO of one of the premier pharmaceutical companies in the world had its benefits.

  A group of men in black sunglasses and earphones surrounded him as though he were a head of state. Swain stepped forward with a smile. “Welcome to TriMedica.”

  Semangelaf nodded once.

  Another tall figure suddenly appeared. One moment there was nothing, and in the next he was standing next to Semangelaf. With stark-white skin and the breeze toying with his long black hair and cloak, it looked as if his head was levitating in a black miasma. His mouth was beautifully sculpted, but remained a flat line. It was a mouth that hadn’t smiled for a long time.

  Boredom clouded nuclear-blue eyes. If it weren’t for the ancient and powerful aura about him, he would’ve looked as uninterested as a statue.

  Andersen stiffened beside me.

  “Ah…I wasn’t expecting anyone else…” Swain’s smile didn’t waver, but he couldn’t hide the faint tremor in his voice.

  “You should thank me,” the newcomer said tonelessly. “I just did you a favor.”

  My blood ran cold at that. A favor must be repaid…unless it wasn’t asked for in the first place. I leaned over to Andersen. “Has Swain—”

  Before I could finish my question, a series of waves rippled through the ground. I’d experienced something similar once on the west coast. I almost lost my footing.

  “What a waste of my time!” came a loud, petulant voice.

  There was a whoosh of air and another dragonlord landed next to Semangelaf. This one didn’t have an amphitere to fly in on. He executed a perfect two-point landing under his own power—a pair of gigantic golden-red wings sprouting from his back. As he touched ground, they started folding until they became tiny and disappeared under his skin. Totally cool and completely new to me—I hadn’t known dragonlords could grow wings like that. But this wasn’t the time to admire them. One dragonlord would have been problem enough. Now it looked as though we were going to have to deal with three.

  Semangelaf glanced to his side. “Apollyon?”

  This newest addition looked young—twelve or so. He was childhood delights made flesh, all fluffy cotton candy and bubbling laughter. Unlike the other two, he was short, maybe under five feet, and had neatly trimmed platinum hair that barely reached his neck. He scanned us with wide tri-ringed eyes of gold, silver and ruby, and I knew he was centuries old. Boys don’t have eyes like those: ancient and all-knowing.

  “GenEvo Labs. They lied to me.” He snapped his fingers and his face lit into an enormous smile. “Boom!”

  Apollyon’s explanation sounded a little odd. Dragonlords were known to be capricious, but it was ludicrous to believe that he’d blown up an entire company for lying to him, unless the lie had been something enormous. Despite my warnings to Andersen the day before, I couldn’t imagine what they could’ve said to offend him that much.

  If those two were Semangelaf and Apollyon, the other one had to be the third member of the Triumvirate of Madainsair—Nathanael, the one who’d destroyed the slayers. He didn’t fit the fearsome warrior demigod image I had in my mind.

  “And the cripple?” Semangelaf asked.

  “Nowhere to be found.” The corners of Apollyon’s cherry lips turned downward, but there was a glint in his eye that made me shiver.

  “Are we expecting anyone else?” I whispered to Andersen. This was so not what I’d signed up for.

  He looked somewhat at a loss. “Those two weren’t supposed to be here.”

  Maybe we could ask them to leave.

  Swain had recovered his aplomb and was shaking hands and posturing about, calling them honored guests and so on. It looked like their leaving wasn’t going to be an option.

  So we had three demigods instead of one. Semangelaf, Nathanael, Apollyon—all names of ancient angels. Interesting. But of course none of the names were real. Every member of the Triumvirate of Madainsair was flawlessly beautiful, divine in his presence and aura. But it wasn’t a beauty that would stir a poet’s soul. It was a beauty that terrified.

  Something about Semangelaf’s and Nathanael’s appearance tickled me mentally, and I realized that they reminded me of Ramiel, post-hunt trespasser and dream invader. But to conclude that he was a dragonlord seemed preposterous. For one thing, I couldn’t imagine what would prompt a being that was the equivalent of an emperor to personally appear at one of my hunts. For another, dragonlords aren’t incubi, and only incubi can invade a person’s dream. The idea that one would agree to owe an incubus a favor just to come mess with me…well, it was ridiculous. I might be a good hunter—okay, a great one—but I wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things.

  Maybe it had been an incubus disguised as a dragonlord. I didn’t actually know if they could do that, but it seemed to be the most plausible explanation at the moment. I made a mental note to research the matter.

  Andersen took a step closer to the dragonlords, hands held out in what I’m sure was supposed to be a sign of reassurance. “Your, uh, lordships, before we go any further, we just need to make sure there’s nothing dangerous.” Thankfully, Swain moved back with his entourage.

  “Do you believe we bear ill will toward our…hosts?” Semangelaf’s voice was as cold as the rest of him, as sere as an arctic landscape.

  “It’s just our procedure.”

  Semangelaf spread his hands, mimicking Andersen’s gesture. “As you can see, we are without our swords. Though we still have magic, of course.”

  Andersen’s chin came up slightly. “I should tell you that we’re warded against it.”

  Apollyon laughed. The sound radiated so much power, the air around us rippled. I shuddered, and Valerie and other staffers from the firm swayed on their feet, drunk from the magic. It sizzled, and even Andersen and Co. looked affected.

  I leaned in close to Andersen and muttered, “Let them come.”

  “But we need to secure—”

  “You felt what just happened, didn’t you?”

  His eyes answered my question.

  “That was just a fraction of their power. If they want, they can destroy us all without even blinking. Choose your battles, know what I mean?”

  “It’s my job to make
sure that—”

  I sighed. “Ask them to make an oath not to hurt anyone during their visit.”

  He gazed at me for a moment, then turned to Semangelaf. “Swear that you won’t hurt anyone during the visit.”

  It was Nathanael who spoke. “We so vow. You mortals are safe.”

  Andersen scowled, but their promise was good as far as I was concerned. Magic has restrictions. One is that magic wielders must keep their word or lose some of their power.

  I lowered my voice. “What does Swain want with them?”

  Andersen’s expression was naturally tight. Now it looked like someone had bolted it to his face. “That’s classified.”

  “I need to know.”

  He hesitated and said, “He’s going to ask for a dragon.”

  “Why?”

  “To learn the secrets of their longevity.”

  I could’ve told Swain the answer: magic. But he undoubtedly wanted something he could pump out of factories, and you can’t mass-produce powerful magic.

  Of course people tried. Medicinal mages made good money working for big pharmaceuticals. They couldn’t heal, but could imbue drugs with magical properties. TriMedica had a lab full of such mages a couple of miles away from the main buildings.

  “What does the triumvirate want?” I said.

  “We don’t know yet.”

  I shook my head. “Best to find out. But you know you’ll never be able to strike a winning bargain with them.”

  “Our lawyers worked on the contract for a long time.”

  “A long time?” I laughed. “Supernaturals have been doing this sort of thing for centuries.”

  Andersen didn’t answer.

  What a stubborn corporate drone. Still, he was a client, and I had a fiduciary duty to make him understand. “We don’t even bargain with low-level supernaturals because we lose ninety-nine times out of a hundred.”

  “These are professional negotiators.”

  I pointed at Apollyon. “How old do you think he is?”

  Andersen shrugged. “A hundred? Two hundred?”

  “At least five hundred.”

  He frowned. Apollyon glowed with cherubic innocence as he smiled at Swain’s bodyguards, but the curve of his lips held a faint hint of feline anticipation. He raised a hand, brushed a lock of short golden hair back and tucked it behind one ear. The motion was too human, too casual.

  “The longer they live, the more powerful they become, especially someone classified as a demigod.” I could see Andersen start to get it. He wasn’t really dumb, just bureaucratic. It took time for his mind to adapt.

  “Well, what do we do?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t know. I wish you’d told me earlier about Swain’s plan.”

  “I didn’t think it was important.”

  Translation: he didn’t think I needed to know until he’d felt that wash of magic in the air and gotten spooked by it. At least he’d had the good sense to be scared. Lots of people refuse to admit their fear, and in my line of work they’re usually the first to die.

  Andersen was scowling again. “Just stay in the background as much as possible. Mr. Swain doesn’t want anything to disrupt the itinerary.”

  “I get it. Don’t talk to anyone, blend in with the furniture. Oh, and if a dragonlord suddenly decides to go crazy, save the day. That about right?”

  The furrows between his eyebrows deepened. Despite our less than auspicious beginning, I felt bad for him. It wasn’t his fault that corporate America had limited his scope. “Look,” I said, “it’s your job to keep your CEO safe, and it’s my job to help you. I’ll do what I can.”

  Reassuring words, but there was very little I could do. Delicate negotiations aren’t exactly my strong point. I could protect Swain physically, but not much more. He could sign his soul away to the dragonlords and wouldn’t even realize it until it was too late. And if he thought he would be able to work it out later through lawyers and the court system, he was deluding himself.

  Several fast-track executives and managers from TriMedica had joined us. One of them looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He seemed too young to be an executive already, but maybe he, too, had gotten some chemical help. An aura of dark power, the kind necromancers have, shifted around him. It felt raw, only half-trained. I wondered to what extent he could tap into it and bend it to his will.

  The upper management introduced themselves to the dragonlords. Judging from the smiles, TriMedica had the world’s best dental plan. The dragonlords looked at them indulgently, the way you would at overeager puppies.

  I sighed at the spectacle but didn’t say anything. Several of the firm’s hunters were positioned around the area. They’d been chosen for their expertise and skills, and normally I would’ve had absolute confidence in them. But not today. At least Blake wasn’t tapping his foot anymore.

  Swain looked around. “Now that we have everyone, why don’t we move to the conference room for a grand reception?”

  Apollyon shook his head. “I want to see your mage lab. You promised to show it.”

  “We were planning to do that after—”

  Nathanael interrupted the CEO. “Now.”

  Swain looked like he’d just swallowed a bug. Probably not too many people talked to him like that. I held my breath. Of the three, Apollyon came across as the most sadistic and violent despite his angelic façade, but that didn’t necessarily make him the most dangerous one. That would be Nathanael, clad all in black. Although he looked bored—almost sleepy—it hadn’t escaped my notice that he had made the promise for the group. I suppressed a shudder. This was the Nathanael of legend, the one who had killed all the slayers, women and children as well as warriors, during the Twilight of Slayers. Okay, maybe not single-handedly. He wasn’t the only one who had fought. But before his ascension to power, the dragonlords had been too busy bickering among themselves to unite against the slayers. And the boredom he was projecting could be a trick. Probably was a trick. I found myself praying that Swain would do as he was told.

  Thankfully he did, leading everyone to the lab himself in an overland hike across the TriMedica grounds. As we passed various facilities he pointed them out to the dragonlords, who glanced at the buildings cursorily as they strode effortlessly beside him.

  I tagged along behind all the “important” people. Truth be told, I was curious. I’d never seen medicinal mages at work. A lot of non-magic users preferred drugs with magical enhancement, but I refused to pay a premium for it. When you know how many of the “doctors” are really just quacks who got their certifications online… Watchdog groups do exist, but medicinal magic is the least of their concerns. Not when they have necromancers, hunters and other life-or-death situations to deal with. So why did the dragonlords want to see the mages?

  The lab was located in a natural setting more conducive to magic. The sun penetrated the canopy of green leaves in broad lances, reminding me of my dream. How Ramiel had come out of the forest and dominated my senses and—I gave myself a mental shake. I needed to focus on work, not think about that…demon. It didn’t matter what I’d said to Valerie last night. I was the lead hunter, and the team was my responsibility.

  As we came closer to the lab building, a deep barking started ringing in the air. I looked around and saw Rottweilers in a cage. “Ignore them,” Andersen yelled. “They’re for security.”

  Apollyon glanced at the dogs, just the slightest shift of his eyes, nothing more. The dogs’ demeanor changed instantly. They whined and rolled onto their backs, exposing their throats. My mouth went dry. Maybe the dogs knew something we didn’t. Maybe we should all roll on our backs and beg for mercy too.

  “Well?” Semangelaf said. Everyone was looking at the dogs. “Where are your mages?”

  “Uh…right this way,” Swain said, and led us on. The dogs remained silent and on their backs. Smarter than their masters, if you asked me. Their survival instinct had a razor-sharp edge that the corporate drones’ didn’t.

/>   For a lab that belonged to one of the premiere pharmaceutical companies in the world, it was surprisingly rustic, no steel beams, concrete or refined metal in sight. Unvarnished logs made up the four walls of the rectangular structure, which was surrounded by old pines and oaks. The interior of the lab was one big room, all wood. As we went in, the mage closest to us poured a beaker of Sex into a vat of dirty, bathwater-colored chemicals and began condensing it. A gray column of smoke rose from the clay cauldron. My eyes watered at the overpowering odor of musk and eucalyptus, and I wondered what the mages used to kill their sense of smell.

  Every table had several gallons of bottled Sex, which looked like it powered most of the mages’ magic. How disappointing. I’d assumed they used something more mysterious. Like, I don’t know, herbs and magical amulets and stuff. Or maybe they did, but not for TriMedica.

  “Ah, this way,” Swain said, starting down an aisle.

  The triumvirate didn’t follow. Semangelaf pulled out a small glass ball with a dot of crimson in the center. “Since you’re here…” he murmured, and handed it to Nathanael.

  Nathanael took the orb, looked at it a moment, then crushed it in his fist. A bit of blood ran out and something cold and invisible snaked through the air. Goose bumps rose on my skin, and the mages stopped working and let out soft sighs. A small frown creased Apollyon’s face, while the others’ expressions remained unchanged.

  “What the hell was that?” Andersen said under his breath.

  “Seekers.”

  “Which do what?”

  “Look for things.” His scowl deepened, and I sighed. “Seekers require something of the desired item or being. So if the dragonlords are hunting for an object, they need a bit of the raw material used to create that particular item, or something that is deeply related to the item itself. If the target is a living being, the spell demands something of the target or of the target’s parentage.”

  “Like a birth certificate?”

  “No.” God, bureaucrats. Maybe Andersen hadn’t summoned the “Selena” demon after all. Even if he didn’t know how to create seekers, as a magic practitioner he should’ve recognized the spell. “The mother or father’s hair, a bit of skin…something that’s been taken from their living body.”