“That would make you the Green Hornet. And . . . a sidekick? Have I fallen so far in your estimation?” He swept a hand to his chest. “My heart breaks. However, I am not likely a secondary character, and I much prefer your first appellation—Zorro, the swords master hero.”
Gee DiMercy was standing under the porch light, his very-milky-chocolate-colored flesh cast in a slight yellow tint from the bulb. A V of chest hair was framed in the opening of his shirt, and a faint film of pale energies ran on and under his skin. His black hair was dry and longer than when I first saw him, loose and curling around his pretty face like a cap. His skin looked Mediterranean or Middle Eastern mixed with a hint of African. His features were utterly beautiful but full of mischief, like an angel who was pushed out of heaven for laughing during prayer. He was dressed in a draped-sleeve, open-throat navy shirt and blousy pants with boots to his thighs, but now he also looked younger, maybe fourteen years old in the poor light. But since it was all a glamour, he could look like anything he wanted.
I stood up, keeping the swing between me and the Anzu, no matter that he looked like a dance student rather than a swords master. Slight, delicate, and smelling of jasmine and pine, the commingled scents fresh, lovely, and dangerously disarming on the night breeze. I sheathed the vamp-killer, which would have been useless against the longer sword, even with Gee’s shorter reach. I had been taking lessons, but I mostly sucked with a long sword.
His gaze swept me from my feet to my head and said, “The pelt is lovely, but feathers would have been beautiful. Remember that you owe me a hunt.”
“I remember. Why are you here?” I asked.
“I am here for le breloque. It is mine.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“It was made for my kind by my goddess and friend. It was lost when one of us died unexpectedly. Until now, we did not know where it had landed.”
“Uh-huh. And how do you intend on getting it, seeing as the witches have it warded and protected?”
“Their magics are child’s play to one such as I.”
“Hmmm. And if they have a steel blade and stick you with it?” Anzus—Anzi?—could be wounded and even killed by steel. I had seen that myself.
Gee scowled.
“Right,” I said. “And if they decide that ‘finders, keepers’ is a more appropriate method of deciding ownership, and they attack in a coven of twelve, could they singe your tail feathers?”
His scowl deepened.
“Come inside and talk to the leaders I’ve managed to get in one place. The coven leader is”—I waved a hand into the slow, misty rain—“otherwise engaged.”
“She tries to use misericord magics, stored in le breloque. She cannot.”
“Whatever.” I opened the door and went into the bed-and-breakfast, pausing by the front door. Gee passed me, altering his apparent age to midtwenties before assuming a fists-on-hips, aggressive stance, like a sea captain, or maybe a pirate captain. All he needed was an eye patch, a parrot, and a stein of rum. “I bring greetings and a warning to your people. I am here in peace. But I will have mon breloque back or you will all die.”
If I’d been close enough, I’d have head-slapped him. Fortunately the witch and Clermont laughed at him. Edmund stood and pulled his swords. He stepped in front of the others and said, “I will not permit—”
The front window blew in and a mud demon shaped like a frog stepped through. Everything went to hell in a handbasket.
Eli fired two handguns, backing into the hallway.
Lucky dove across the room, throwing a fire spell that simply disappeared into the frog’s wide mouth, where it sizzled as the demon swallowed it, treating it like an appetizer. When he landed, Lucky flipped a table over on its side and ducked behind it. Clermont, Edmund, and Gee all turned on the thing and attacked, swords flashing. Black tarry cuts appeared on its sides and it roared with anger. I still had my shotgun, but the Benelli was useless in such close quarters. I’d hit one of the swordsmen. I checked the hallway and Eli was gone, and so was his brother. Eli had to have some toys in his room. He’d be back with military reinforcements.
The demon picked up the sofa where they had been sitting and threw it across the room. It crashed on the table hiding Lucky, and the table cracked, splintering. The furniture collapsed on the witch.
The demon’s arms extended two feet. It grew claws. It attacked the swordsmen.
They didn’t have a chance.
But . . . they were all using steel. I pulled a vamp-killer, with its steel edge and silver plating. “Ed!” I shouted. I lay the long knife on the floor and spun it to him. He bent and picked it up while making two cuts in the demon. No. Make that four. He was . . . Edmund Hartley was freaking fast. Seeing him fight next to Gee DiMercy made that abundantly clear. Holy crap. The vamp who was on the bottom of the pecking order in vamp HQ was amazing, a skilled, talented swordsman.