Memoirs of a Dragon Hunter

  He looked over my head to the demon. “Why are you here again, Falafel? I told you that I don’t want you around.”

  “And I told you that the master sent me to ensure you complete your duties.” Falafel looked downright mean. “I tire of repeating myself to you. Send your woman away, and let us be about your business.”

  “You are so one note,” I told her. “I can’t use you in my book at all, even though now I desperately want a character I can call Porn ’Stache. But characters are only interesting if they have depths of emotion, and all you do is rant and rave with anger. FYI: it gets old really fast. You might want to read up on a second emotion so you don’t bore people to death.”

  “Bore!” I thought her head might explode, and backed up a step before I realized what I was doing.

  The black sword lay where it must have fallen, on top of the gerbil cages that sat on the coffee table. I glanced at the weapon, wondering how different it was from my stolen soul sword.

  “You speak to me with such insolence?” Falafel sputtered, and breathed heavily for a second. “It is intolerable! I will not stand it! Iskandar, if you will not lesson this…this…thing, then I will!”

  I snatched up the sword the second she started toward me, saying, “Dude, you really need something other than an off and on switch.”

  Ian had been moving around the coffee table, clearly at the end of his patience. Just as I picked up the sword, he spun around, his eyes wide. “Veronica, do not touch that!”

  “Why?” I tossed the sword from one hand to the other, getting a feel for its weight and balance, things that I knew from Ian’s lesson were important. This one felt fine. “It’s just a sword. It’s not like I don’t know how to use one after those two lessons. Anyway—”

  “Aieee!” Falafel let out a screech so loud it felt like it tore my eardrums to shreds. “Deathsong! You dare touch it?”

  She lunged forward toward me, and I quickly whipped through the mental notes I’d taken when Ian had given me a dragon hunter lesson. I made sure my weight was balanced on the balls of my feet, that my legs were spread slightly, my elbows bent, and that I was relaxed. When Falafel leaped onto the coffee table, knocking the gerbil cages everywhere, still screeching in some language that sounded like it was made up of gravel and nails, I reacted as best I could. I slashed forward with the sword, then spun it around and slammed the hilt into her head, sending her flying backward.

  “Are they okay?” I asked, dropping the sword to gather up the cages of the gerbils and hamsters, their squawks and squeaks of protest telling me that at least they were still alive. “Oh, thank the stars, no one looks like they’re hurt.”

  Ian didn’t wait; he was on Falafel when she struggled to her feet, the pair of them falling over the couch onto the floor. His sword flashed in the light as he brought it to her throat. “Do not tempt me to end your life,” he said in a near snarl, his chest heaving. For a moment, I could swear I saw fire on his hands, but it was gone before I was sure of what I’d seen.

  Hurriedly, I stuffed the cages back onto the coffee table, feeling I should help him, but not wanting the animals to get stepped on should the fight continue.

  “You don’t have the balls,” the demon all but spat back at him despite the fact that his sword was pressing into the flesh of her throat. “Anzo would destroy you the instant she heard about my end.”

  Just as I finished with the last animal cage, I saw a blackness that seemed to glow around one of Falafel’s hands. It was like a miniature cloud the size of a loaf of bread had formed, and as I stared in wonder at it, I noticed that symbols like runes flashed in it before dissolving and being replaced by others.

  “It would be worth it to rid the world of you,” Ian said, some of the tension in his body relaxed, and he sat back, although his sword was still held to her throat.

  I stared at his sword, at the runes on it that were glittering so brightly. He’d told me all dragon hunters had spells inscribed on their swords to grant them various strengths.

  The runes were spells.

  Falafel was drawing a spell in the air, a black spell, and I knew in an instant that she was going to cast it on Ian.

  She raised her hand, the black cloud following. Time seemed to dilate at that moment, stretching each second out tenfold. Ian started turning his head to look at her hand, but I saw in a flash that he wouldn’t be able to stop her from casting the spell, and that although I wasn’t sure it would kill him, I knew I had to prevent it from being put into place. Without thinking, I reached out blindly, my fingers closing around the black sword. I rose, bringing it up high with both hands, and in a fluid motion, swung downward, narrowly missing Ian in the arc. Falafel’s eyes widened just as the fingers in her hand spread to release her spell, but I was faster. For what seemed like an eternity, I stood above her, staring downward at the curious expressions that passed over her face: disbelief, horror, and finally, anger. A black line appeared across her throat, just above where the tip of Ian’s sword touched her flesh, the line spreading and thickening as I watched.

  Her hand dropped to the floor with a dull thud, and at that noise, time seemed to return to normal.

  Ian stared down at her for a second before getting to his feet, his face expressing disbelief. “What did you do?”

  “Uh…” I swallowed, confused by my actions. “Stopped her, I think. It’s all kind of a blur, to be honest, but I could see she was going to cast a spell. At least I think it was a spell. It was little symbols on a black cloud, and that seems to be gone. Is she…okay? She’s not moving.”

  “No,” Ian said, sliding his sword back into its sheath. “She wouldn’t be, not without her head attached to her body. Wrath demons aren’t easy to kill, but using one of their own swords to decapitate them will do the job.”

  I stared down at the demon for a few seconds. She looked frozen to me, her expression locked into anger. “But…her head is still on.”

  “Do you really want me to pick it up to show you it’s not?” he asked.

  I shuddered. “Uck. No. But…if she’s dead, why hasn’t she disappeared into black…Oh.”

  As I spoke, the body did an odd little shimmer, then evaporated into a pungent black smoke that had me backing up, waving the air in front of my nose.

  Ian looked down at the black stain on his carpet and sighed. “There goes the cleaning deposit.”

  “I just killed a demon, my very first demon—hell, the first thing I’ve ever killed, because I don’t even squash flies or spiders—and all you can think about is your cleaning deposit?” I waved the sword around dramatically. “Get with the program, Steve!”

  “My name is Ian,” he said, frowning.

  “That was a quote,” I said, waving the sword some more. “At least I think it is. Maybe it isn’t, but it should be. Oh, goddess, I killed someone. I cut off a head. Is it wrong to panic? Because I kind of want to.”

  Ian gently took the sword from me, grimaced, then dropped it onto the floor, looking at his hand as he did so.

  “Are you okay?” I peered down at his hand. “It looks like you got burned. Did the sword do that?”

  “Yes.” He eyed my hands. “What’s curious is that you don’t seem to have an issue with it. What do you feel when you hold it?”

  “Nothing.” I picked it up from where it lay, examining it. It was broader and heavier than Helen’s sword, and the blade was solid black, but the hilt was silver in color, and carved with odd symbols. “Are these marks spells like what’s on the soul swords? They look different to me.”

  “They are different. They are banes, meant to give the demon access to powers that you should not be able to use.” He narrowed his eyes as I gave a few experimental swishes in the air with the sword. “This makes absolutely no sense. Dragon hunters cannot wield weapons used by wrath demons.”

  “This one doesn’t feel bad. It feels…” I thought for a moment. “Kind of familiar in an odd way.”

  “That makes no sense,”
Ian repeated, shaking his head. “Even with our demonic blood, they are beyond our abilities. They would consume rather than allow themselves be used. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” I asked, concerned that something horrible might happen to me.

  “Unless Adam’s experimentations on your sister changed her more than I imagined, and that change was transmitted to you.”

  “Huh?”

  Ian looked deep in thought, but since he didn’t seem to be horrified, I decided to come back to that point. “Whatever the problem with normal demon swords, this one seems to be okay. Would it be all right if I used it until I can get my own back?”

  “I should say no, but at this point…” He gave a shrug. “If it doesn’t hurt you, and you don’t feel any surge of dark power when you touch it, then I assume your unique nature means that you have an affinity to it.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, wiping the blade on some tissues I found on a side table. “It’s not as pretty as Helen’s. Do you think Falafel was the one who broke into my apartment and trashed it?”

  “I don’t believe so, but I’ll let Sasha answer that.” He looked over my shoulder and asked, “Did you sense demons?”

  “Not a one. There was someone there, all right, but it wasn’t a straight-out demon. The man from the Watch said the same thing—it was something different, you know? Kind of demony, but not, if you know what I mean. Which I hope you do, because Zizi knows I don’t.” Sasha glided into the room, looking pointedly at the stain on the carpet. “It looks like you had one here. The wrath demon chick?”

  “Yes.” Ian’s expression was impassive. “Veronica dispatched her. Is the Watch still upstairs?”

  “Ooh, demon sword, very cool.” She trotted past me toward the kitchen. “No, he left. Said there was nothing he could do other than file a report of malicious destruction of property. Oh, he says they got in through your door, Ronnie, probably with some sort of skeleton key. I think that’s what he called it. Anyway, he said you should use some protective wards when you sleep at night so the person can’t get back in. Did you leave me food? I’m so hungry I could eat grilled behemoth.”

  “I guess I’ll go back to my apartment,” I said, gesturing toward the door with my sword. I suddenly felt all shades of awkward, my movements feeling gawky and clunky, but worse, I had the feeling I was an outsider in a closed circle consisting of Ian and Sasha. “Thanks for dinner.”

  Ian said nothing, just looked at me, and after a moment of waiting for him to respond, I gave a feeble wave and left.

  I don’t quite know what I had expected to see at my apartment. I had some half-formed idea of Sasha’s “mad skills” being of the magical sort, where I’d open my door and find everything restored and put back, and normal to the point of not even being able to tell that an invasion had happened.

  “This is anticlimactic,” I said to myself when I stood in the doorway and surveyed the interior. It didn’t appear as if anything had been changed. Not one thing had been picked up, nothing had been pieced back together (magically or otherwise), and nothing had been cleaned. It was all as big a mess as it had been before, with the exception of a note stuck on the inside wall saying the Watch had been there and found no threat present, along with a command to call the attached number if I had any information helpful to solving the crime.

  “Fat lot of good that did,” I murmured to myself, looking around my destroyed apartment. I toyed with the idea of calling the regular police, but figured there was nothing they could do or say that would help me. Ian had offered to help, but I didn’t feel right in taking him up on it. Not when he’d been so nice as to make me dinner.

  I’d just have to cope on my own.

  Note to Self: Don’t Let Mr. Manny See This Chapter.

  Also, Come Up With Pithy Chapter Header

  GRITTING MY TEETH, I WADED THROUGH THE ANKLE-deep layer of detritus, my heart breaking at each little destroyed object I passed. My books, my cute little telephone table that had held a cactus, my little white ceramic horses that had galloped across my mantelpiece…all lying broken and crushed and bearing an air of being forgotten. I stopped at the doorway to the bedroom. The mattress had been shredded, bits of stuffing and foam scattered everywhere. The floor was littered with colorful shreds of fabric that I identified as my clothing. Books were torn apart, the pages shredded or crumpled underfoot.

  The panicked animal in my head surveyed it all and wept.

  I opened my door, intending to flee the desecration, and jumped when I found Ian there, his hand raised to knock.

  His gaze searched my face. “I take it Sasha’s cleansing didn’t help?”

  “She didn’t clean anything,” I said, making sure she wasn’t standing in the hallway behind him before continuing. “Everything is still…broken, crushed, and spread out all over my apartment. She’s a nice girl, and I’m sure she meant well, but if you offer to clean things up, the least she could have done was shoveled things into mounds for me to sort through.”

  “That’s not the sort of cleaning she offered to do,” he said cryptically. “I’m here to help. Where do you want me to start?”

  I looked over my shoulder at the mess and felt as if a yoke made of lead had settled on my shoulders. “Honestly? I don’t think I can cope with this tonight.”

  “Fair enough.” He took my hand and, without a word, led me downstairs to his apartment. Sasha was nowhere to be seen as we entered. He nodded toward the door across the living room. “I’m afraid your choices for the night are the couch or my bed, and the cats usually sleep on the couch. You’re not allergic, are you?”

  “No, but would you misinterpret me if I said I’d prefer your bed? I don’t want you thinking I’m angling for the sex, but sleeping with three cats sounds like it would make my animal go into overdrive.”

  He just looked at me as if I had said something untoward.

  I explained. “I think of my anxiety as an animal that lives in a cave in my mind, remember?”

  “I remember, but I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who thinks of anxiety in quite that manner.”

  I gave a little shrug. “It helps me visualize it and control it when it wants to take over.”

  “I am very familiar with that need to control one’s inner self,” he said with a twist of his mouth. “As to the cats, I can’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with them. I will be happy to extend the courtesy of my bed to you if that’s what you desire.”

  I started for his bedroom, but paused. “With no sex, right?”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “I can’t say I would turn down the offer if you made it, but I have yet to force myself on a woman, and I have no intention of starting now.”

  “Okay, good, because although I will admit I liked kissing you for Falafel’s benefit, I’m not looking for a real partner. I just want you to teach me what I need to do in order to make Helen rest easy.”

  A half hour later I was sitting in Ian’s bed, wearing a pair of sleeping shorts and a tank top borrowed from Sasha. “I appreciate this, I really do. I know Teresita would let me stay with her, but her spare bed is a futon on her kids’ bunk bed, and…”

  Ian emerged from the bathroom where he was getting ready for bed. He was shirtless, and clad in a pair of flannel comfy pants.

  I stared at the expanse of bare chest, trying desperately to get my tongue uncleaved from the roof of my mouth. He had tattoos up both arms and across his upper chest, some odd tribal design that did nothing to distract the eye from the thick muscles and hints of a six-pack.

  “Sleeping with children is never conducive to rest, or so my mother used to say.” Ian strolled over to the bed just like he hadn’t been hiding the body of a Greek god under his clothing.

  “You have a mother?” I realized with a start that I had spoken that inane bit of conversation and made an effort to stop mentally drooling over his bare torso. “Sorry, that came out sounding stupid. Only…you said dragon hunters are part demon. Does that mean your mo
m was a demon, or was she a dragon?”

  “She was both. My father was a mortal.” He got into bed and gave me an odd look. “Is something wrong? You look bilious.”

  I swallowed back a good gallon of saliva and shook my head. “I’m fine. Just…you have really interesting tats. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ones like it. I have a hummingbird on my calf that I got when I was drunk, after my friends convinced me that I wouldn’t get HIV or hepatitis from the tattoo gun, but yours are really…detailed.”

  “Yes,” he said, and then rolled onto his side, presenting me with his back. I was interested to see the tattoos went across the upper half of it as well. “I’m going to sleep. Feel free to read if you like. I can sleep with lights on.”

  Well! I thought to myself, feeling somewhat let down. I must have been more tired than I thought, because I found myself saying, “It’s not like I thought you’d make a move on me, because you don’t seem like that kind of a man—I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were—but at least you could…you know…acknowledge that we’re two adults, together in bed, and we’ve kissed several times today.”

  Ian rolled over to look at me. “Are you asking for a good-night kiss, or do you simply want me to say I fancy you?”

  “Neither,” I said with haughty outrage, then ruined it by adding, “Do you fancy me?”

  “Do you seriously have to ask?”

  “Yes.” I frowned at him. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know. Wait, are you saying you think I’m fishing for compliments? Because I’m not.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” He rolled over so I had his back again.

  “I notice you didn’t answer my question. That’s okay, though. It’s not important. I just wondered if you were, you know, interested in me.”

  “Are you interested in me?” he asked without moving.

  “Yes,” I said, mentally writhing at the fact that my mouth was now speaking without my approval. “But that doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I think lots of men are sexy as hell. I don’t kiss them, though, or pretend to be their girlfriend to demons who can change their bodies at the drop of a hat. What happens to them when they disappear, by the way? Do they come back the way dragon hunters do? Helen said she will come back, although she didn’t say how, or when, or in what form. Do you know? Am I talking too much? I am, aren’t I? It’s because I’m exhausted and my home has been broken into, and I feel betrayed and abused, and all my mental barriers are down.”