Page 4 of The Last Slayer
“No. You can live without your soul. Plenty of people have sold theirs and gone on happily for the next several decades. You can’t do that without your astral self. It’s your ego, your psyche, your essential life energy.”
Selena frowned. I guess it was too much for her to process.
I tried again. “A Level One astral mage can kill you without spilling a single drop of blood by destroying your astral self, but he won’t be able to touch your soul. That’s between you and your god.”
The mention of God made her even more tense, if that was possible. “I never invite the thing willingly,” she said defensively. “I sometimes fantasize, but that’s not a summons, right?”
“Your fantasies don’t happen to include an incubus, do they?”
Her blush was answer enough.
“Sexual fantasies are beautiful things. But when they include an incubus as a prominent character, those bastards regard it as an invitation. Then you’re truly fu—uh…out of luck.”
She turned even redder, which made her complexion look like salsa spread over cardboard, but I wasn’t going to apologize for what I’d said, even if it meant that she might bitch about my “unprofessionalism” to Jack himself afterward. If I could stop even one woman from getting victimized by those predators, it would be worth one of his you-have-to-be-nicer-to-the-clients talks. Demons are as bad as serial rapists or killers. Worse, actually—they leave no trail or forensic evidence. You have to catch them in the act, and there are only so many hunters in the world.
“Why don’t you show me your bedroom?”
It was on the third level of the townhouse. The master bedroom suite had a white ceiling fan, two large windows and enough mirrors to keep an international convention of narcissists happy. She must’ve liked to stare at herself. Either that or her ex was kinky.
A king-size bed dominated the room, the emphasis almost vulgarly obvious. Crimson sheets, silky and opulent, lay tangled on the bed. At least the carpet was a neutral beige.
I unzipped my bag and draped dark sheets embroidered with wardings over all the portal points—mirrors, windows and doors, including those in the master bathroom. A supernatural could enter easily enough. Leaving would be another matter.
Selena watched me with an apprehensive interest. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready. You want the creature caught, right?”
She swallowed, then nodded. Still a hint of hesitation even though the thing was killing her.
I suppressed a sigh. Dealing with reluctant clients was my least favorite part of the job. Selena was an adult. Unless she was considered incompetent to make her own decisions by a court, she had to call us, sign the never-ending release forms and complete the contract herself. “Who asked you to hire a hunter?”
“No one.”
Uh-huh. Her answer had come a little too fast. But whatever. At least she would be getting the help she needed. Maybe the incubus would resist capture and I could kill it legally. I could only hope. Creatures of nightmare deserved to die, even if their deaths did create a purgatory of paperwork
.
“Look,” I began, “two more nights and I can guarantee you won’t have anything left. Then the creature will move on. You’ll pine for the high and wither away like a plant starved for water.”
She turned pale and nodded again.
My watch told me it was 8:55 p.m. Early for sleep, but there were potions for that. Selena had already signed the release forms, which explained the procedure as required by law.
“Get ready for bed,” I said. “I’ll do the rest.”
“Okay.” She disappeared into the bathroom.
I stopped and breathed deeply. This room also smelled of stale Sex. It was faint, but everywhere, like the smell of fruit in a tropical country. Whoever was dream raping her must’ve spilled at least a quarter of what he’d extracted from her here.
I drew a circle with ashes of thyme on the carpet at the foot of the bed. This was where I would be—physically anyway—while Selena dreamed. The circle was big enough to accommodate my movements. It would be catastrophic if any part of my body went over the line. High dream magic does peculiar things to unprotected mortals.
Selena reappeared in a slinky silk nightgown that looked even worse on her than it would have on me. She glanced at me nervously, and I gave her my Number One Winning Smile.
“Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.” I pulled out my katana—the real thing, not a fake like some hunters carry—from my bag. The work I’d done to earn my blade was a secret I’d carry to the grave, but it was sensitive enough that the zaibatsu family had rewarded me with a daisho set and five tantos. “Can I get a little bit of your hair?”
“Why?”
“I need it to establish a link between us.”
