Page 7 of The Last Slayer
I faced the thing that had been a woman just a moment ago. It didn’t attack, although its body vibrated with the tense energy you get right before a duel. Strange.
Oh well. Its problem, not mine. I planned to add it to my kill list.
As if it’d read my thoughts, a morning star appeared in its three-fingered hand. “Fight, mortal. I will shred you and drink your blood.”
“Oh, I’m quaking in my boots.” One cliché deserved another.
I brought my sword up. I’d worry about the paperwork later.
The demon circled sideways. It had the advantage—since we were in its dream, it controlled the environment. But I didn’t dwell on the situation. To do so would only split my focus and undermine my confidence.
I swung, as did the demon. The spiked ball at the end of the chain clanged against my blade, knocking it sideways. The blue ocean solidified into crystals and changed color to sun-bleached white. Columns rose and smooth rock piled up until a Roman gladiatorial arena with tens of thousands of togated spectators surrounded us. They booed at my every offensive move and cheered for the demon’s victory. Self-glorification at its finest, but it showed just how much power this demon wielded, that it could keep all of that going and fight at the same time.
Sweat began to bead on my temples. I could feel the blood in my veins heat and pulse through my body.
We exchanged so many blows that my arm began to ache. Its strikes were bone-jarring. The spikes on the morning star gleamed under the relentless sun. I ducked, neatly avoiding getting a chunk of my flesh ripped from my face, and lunged forward. My blade dug into its thigh. It pulled back, hissing. Thick black liquid the consistency of molasses oozed from the wound and hung toward to the ground. The demon’s hundreds of eyes glowed bright white, like so many tiny supernovas.
A diamond-shaped block of ice fell from the sky and landed where I’d been less than a second earlier. The demon screeched, and another block fell, then another. The quicker I evaded them, the more enraged it became and the faster the ice fell.
I didn’t have time for this game. And the last thing I needed was an injury. I drew a circle with my sword and sealed it off. Then I raised my blade as magic heated it. Before the demon could bring another ice meteor shower down on my head, I incanted and sliced the air in a clean arc.
Thick, metallic-scented gel poured in through the cut and smashed against the shield I’d erected. The sky ripped and the gladiatorial arena and the spectators crumbled like a sand castle under a tsunami. The demon doubled over, morning star forgotten, its hands cradling its pygmy head, shrieking.
I’d slashed the barrier of its psyche. Bet it hadn’t been expecting that. The spell required a lot of power and skill—Level One, to be exact. The Federation of Mageship frowned upon its use except in the most extenuating circumstances, because it could kill the one with the damaged psyche. The firm would have to send a horde of lawyers to deal with the paperwork and outraged Federation enforcers who would undoubtedly want my head on a silver platter. But I had to get out of the demon’s dream. There were no standard procedures for a situation like this, and I was sure they would understand.
Once they talked to the firm’s attorneys, that is.
The demon’s wail rose unbelievably high, then mercifully went beyond my hearing. What was left of the dreamscape wavered and then vanished with a pop like a soap bubble. The demon collapsed, and even though I felt my usual sensual, visceral thrill when an enemy fell, it was kind of too bad—I’d wanted to ask the thing about that “marked” comment.
I found myself back in the dark bedroom. The demon was curled under the covers, its face contorted in death.
Two
My booted feet trampled the early summer grass as I went to my car. Somewhere a dog barked. A lot of the residents in Selena’s neighborhood probably owned pets, and I could just imagine a family of four with apple-cheeked children and a big golden retriever. It wasn’t the kind of family I know from experience, but from nauseatingly wholesome Disney movies and holiday propaganda. My foster family can be many things, but they’re not exactly all-American.
I tossed the hunting gear into the trunk and called Valerie. “How did it go?” she asked after the first ring.
I didn’t have to hear more than that. “You knew.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence.” The lilac-scented late evening wind was cool against my heated skin. Too bad it couldn’t cool my temper. “Referred client, my ass. You set me up! What the hell are you trying to pull?”
Her voice changed registers slightly. “A big deal with lots of money. What I always try to pull for the firm.”
When Valerie did business, possible negative consequences were rarely given much consideration, especially if everything turned out fine. What, her worry? She was a warding specialist and had never fought a battle in her life. I was wasting my breath yelling at her and knew it, but I was too pissed off to care.
“Look, why don’t you come back to the office?” Valerie said, her tone smooth. “I’ll explain everything. We’ll talk.”
“No shit we will.”
I snapped the phone shut and reached into the trunk to get an ax. Gripping it tightly, I stalked back to the townhouse and entered the bedroom where the body lay on the bed. The demon’s multiple eyes stared blankly at me. Valerie wanted to talk? Fine. I’d give her something to talk about.
The blade cut through the demon’s neck like a carrot. Thick black liquid squirted over the mattress. I picked up the head by its hair and wrinkled my nose. The blood was going to stink up my car.
I wiped my ax on the sheet and went to the master bathroom for a shower curtain. Naturally, the stall was made of glass. I glanced at my reflection, wondering what that “marked” comment had meant. A tattoo maybe? Everything looked normal, but for some reason I felt like I was covered with slime. I put the demon head on the floor and ran a hand down my torso. It was probably the psychic fluid from the demon’s dream still clinging to me. I’d never exited a dream that way before.
“A sensation remarkably like mucus, wouldn’t you agree?”
