Page 19 of The Last Slayer
Valerie tapped the pen on other parts of the design. “All of these have different dragon wardings on them, in addition to the supernaturals I originally warded against.”
“Why dragons?” I traced the sketches on the cool paper with an index finger. “They never attack human homes.” It was part of the long-ago treaty signed between dragonlords and mortals. As far as we knew, it was still in effect.
“Exactly.” She peered at me, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Have you formed an alliance with some benevolent supernatural?”
Benevolent supernatural. What an oxymoron.
“No.” I dumped some books off the desk so I could perch on it and tried to think. “Can these wardings turn into something else that can be used for black magic?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen anything like them before.” She shook her head. “Look, let me replace the old wardings.” That made sense. Even though the new ones were more powerful, leaving them would be like having someone break into your home and then keeping the new locks he’d installed.
“And then maybe you should stay home today,” she continued. “Or just go to the office, whichever makes you feel safer. I’ll send someone else to lead the team on the Andersen job.”
“No.” Something wasn’t right, and I couldn’t help but think that I was missing a bigger picture. Call it professional pride. Call it curiosity. I wanted to be there myself.
Four
The TriMedica building stood tall near the I-66 exit in Arlington. Slender and cylindrical, it looked like a stack of enormous gold coins. Ostentatious cars of European origin sparkled in the parking lot. Private security had quarantined the premises to keep dragon groupies out. If traffic was any indication, the metropolitan-area population had doubled overnight.
At the entrance I showed my ID to a uniformed guard who bore a striking resemblance to a Doberman. He checked his list and waved me through.
Andersen and Co. were already at the “Command Center,” which was an office on the first floor of the main building. Yes, someone had actually put up a hand-lettered sign that said “Command Center” on the door. Despite the early hour, the place sizzled with anticipation and caffeinated energy. Valerie had already warded the sparsely decorated room. She was hunched over a pile of papers and talking on her cell phone, but glanced up at me as I walked in.
On the other side of the office, four men and women in black suits sat at small desks with their laptops. Andersen scowled in greeting. I wanted to ask him how he’d slept, but Valerie was coming and she frowns on baiting the clientele.
“Hey,” she said. “Take this before you have coffee.”
I stared at the bottle of high quality Sex. “Ew.”
“No whining. Everyone from the firm gets it.”
“Uh…I don’t really need it.” I already had more than enough, thanks to “Ramiel.” The memory of what he’d done without even touching me made my skin hot and tight. Oh you have it bad, Ashera. You’re in trouble. My sympathy for my incubus clients had suddenly increased exponentially. Incubus sex was like crack.
“Yes, you do. People are watching. Lead by example.”
Sure enough, the hunters’ gazes had zoomed in on our little exchange. “Ah hell.” I took the bottle and swigged it, taking care not to gag or make a face. Sometimes being a partner sucked. A lot.
The bitter liquid went down my throat and hit me like a truckload of caffeine. My hands started trembling. I’d never had this much Sex in me before, and I felt like people could see it leaking from my pores. Kind of embarrassing.
I wasn’t the only twitchy one. Several of Andersen’s buddies looked wired tight enough to snap. Nobody likes to deal with an unknown, and they had to cope with two: a dragonlord and outside consultants. The CEO himself, Bill Swain, probably wasn’t worried about supernaturals. They rarely attacked high-profile figures, types that might draw attention. Under current law, hunters couldn’t kill supernaturals without witne
ssing them violate someone first. But if all the legal restrictions were lifted, a lot of low- to midgrade demons would suffer. So supernaturals generally self-policed. It was the rogue demons that I had to deal with.
Dragonlords, however, were another matter. No mortal could hope to hunt one, legal issues aside. I hoped Swain knew that.
I gravitated toward the breakfast table, selected a warm glazed donut from a platter and chomped into it. So good. Nothing like pure sugar and trans fat to get a girl going in the morning.
“You ready?” Andersen looked exactly the way he had the night before. He might have been old, but he seemed tough enough.
I shrugged. “Does it matter? You can’t ask Semangelaf to postpone his visit.”
He scowled again. He was probably scowling when he popped out of his mother.
“So what time is he going to show up?” I said.
Right on cue, a woman announced from her desk, “He’s here.”
Great. Andersen swore and joined a few men at the woman’s station. I opted to finish my donut. I hadn’t brought my hunting gear, which would have been useless against a demigod. Instead I recited the words of draco perditio silently. I had no idea if I could actually make the spell work, but what else was there?
