Blood of the Demon (The Silver Legacy Book 3)

The Silver Legacy, Book 3

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Alex Westmore

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015, Broad Winged Books

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

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:  Stevie Mikayne

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:  Mallory Rock

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:  Falcon Storm

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W
hen demons explode, detritus flies everywhere. At this very moment, the demon Denny Silver was trying to put down was one wrist flick away from blowing up.

“Come on Jahi, just release this woman,” Denny said. “Take your nasty-ass minion from her and maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you both live.”

“We are not afraid of you, Hunter.”

“Well that’s your first mistake.” In each hand, Denny held a silver cylinder about a foot in length. When she snapped her wrists forward, a sword made of energy crackled out of the right cylinder while a blade chain whipped out of the other. Both weapons were imposing, especially with the noise and the bluish tint surrounding them. “Big, big mistake.”

The possessed woman laughed—slightly insane. It sounded like a squirrel whose tail had just been run over. “The only mistake we’ve made is allowing you and your loved ones to live, Hunter. We should have killed you six months ago.”

“Threatening me? Really? Like
that’s
never happened. How can you live with your damned unoriginal self?”

“Your reputation as a killer of demons proceeds you, Golden Silver, but how will you fare against one you cannot kill?”

Denny pulled herself up to her full height of five foot ten as she slid the whip into a specially made inner pocket in her vest. “Oh, I could kill you and the host, and still stop by Starbucks for a coffee, but I’m hoping Jahi comes to her senses before I do that.”

Denny stepped closer to the possessed women who looked like a forty-year-old mom trying to dress like her fourteen-year-old daughter. The look was never good and, in this case, bordered on pathetic.

This was not that.

This was a woman who did not know she was dressed like a prostitute. She didn’t even know she’d been possessed.

“Stay where you are Hunter, lest my mistress, Jahi, feel the need to defend me. You are not her favorite human and your death would make her infamous.”

“Don’t hurt yourself tripping over big words.” From another inner pocket, Denny withdrew a third cylinder called Saugen. “Perhaps you’ve heard of this.” Saugen made a
snikking
noise as it sprang to life from the cylinder. It looked like a blue garden hose.

The controlled woman stepped back, eyes wide with fear.

Denny grinned. “Yeah, I’d back up too. See, here’s the thing: in less than one minute, this Saugen is going to suck you right out of this poor women, and the second you clear her body, the very moment your last toenail grasp on her is gone, Epée here will cut you in half, ending your days of whoring and lasciviousness. Get out now or I’ll tear you from her and destroy you.” Denny looked up. “Do you hear me Jahi, you smug piece of shit?”

Suddenly, a black mist appeared, formless, shapeless, almost two-dimensional. The mist hovered near the women a moment before slowly taking the shape of a curvaceous shadow with no defining features. “Cease your threats, Hunter. You needn’t destroy my minion, though she is far tougher than you might surmise.” The shadow shimmered a moment, as if Jahi was trying to become real.

Denny did not lower her weapons. She’d been attacked by a shade before, and it was like fighting cotton candy. “I thought I made it pretty clear to your kind...your underlings do not belong in Savannah, Jahi. Why are we having this conversation again? You’re trying my already limited patience. Get out. Stay out. End of fricking story.”

“It is my error Hunter. One I’ll not make again.”

“Good. Then take your skanky little succubus with you when you leave and don’t return. I mean it, Jahi. Next time, it won’t be your crony I come after, and
you
won’t walk away.”

A tense silence hung in the air between them––the shadow never anything more than a heavy smoke-like mist that flickered every now and then. “Save your threats, Hunter. Your reputation is well earned. Come Enocha. Leave that poor, dim being to her own devices.”

“But––”

“I said
come
. Do not disobey me.”

“And don’t return, either of you. Whatever my reputation is ain’t nothing compared to what it can be.” Denny’s voice chopped three octaves. She sounded like a gnome who’d just swallowed grit from the bottom of a birdcage.

The Hanta.
Her
demon within.

The smoke hovered a moment. “
Your
demon is far more powerful than any Hanta Raya I’ve ever felt, Hunter. What have you done to give it such strength without losing yourself?”

“My Hanta has kicked a lot of demon ass in the six months I’ve been a hunter, yet you all still come to harass
the rookie
and I keep blowing you all to smithereens. Why is that, Jahi?”

Before the demon could answer, Enocha rose from the woman, flipped Denny off, and vanished.

“Where...what?” The woman, no longer possessed, looked around, confused.

Denny pointed to the bus station on the corner. “You just got a little lost. Wait for the next bus to come take you home.”

The bewildered woman walked away, stopping to look down at her clothes before turning back to Denny. “Why...why am I dressed like a hooker?”

Denny shrugged. “Costume party?”

When the woman continued to the bus stop, Denny focused back on the shadow. “I may be a rookie, Jahi, but my Hanta is almost a thousand years old. I think it’s time you gave it the respect it deserves.”

The black shadow slowly began to fade. “You are an enigma, Golden Silver...both at peace with your own demon while at war with the rest. I bid you
adieu
and wish you luck with yours.” With that, Jahi disappeared, leaving Denny in the near darkness of a deserted street.

“Well, I suppose my work is done for the night. How ’bout I put this in the book as a successful extraction and go get laid?”

As usual, the demon within did not directly respond, but she could sense its agreement. Her Hanta Raya loved sex...one of the few perks that came with being possessed.

If that really was a perk.

The jury was still out.

***

D
enny’s Journal

Three months ago, I sent out a warming to the many demons in Savannah: come here at your own risk. Stay here and be destroyed.

Since then, the demon activity here as greatly subsided. I’ve only had one kill in the last week and half, which is good, I suppose. It was enough to feed the Hanta, but I can still feel it stirring inside me, wanting more.

We’ve managed to find more balance, which was necessary, since I nearly went around the bend a while back. I’m back on track. I keep my demon fed, and Savannah free of evil.

Every time I open the Black Book, that damned Peyton has yet another kill.

I know it’s not a competition. I get that. It just makes me wonder if my demons have migrated from Savannah to New Orleans. It’s as if Peyton has been overrun with demons the last couple of weeks while my own activity has waned—the herd thinned.

Why that damned Black Book has me under its spell, I’ll never know. Maybe it keeps me from feeling like I am the only person in the world to understand what evil lurks around every corner. Maybe I just like knowing there’s another human who understands what it’s like being a legacy hunter. It’s a pretty exclusive club, right?

Take one human.

Add a thousand-year-old demon.

Shake, and hope she doesn’t blow her brains out.

Whatever the reason, I read it like a normal person reads the news. Tonight is the fourth night in a row Peyton hasn’t posted a kill.

Suddenly, I’m concerned about a demon hunter I’ve never even met. How dumb is that? I worry about him when he isn’t writing in the book. I wonder if he is dead or injured. Does he need my help or did he just take the day off? So many questions about this new job of mine, and so few answers. Maybe I’ll ask Ames if that’s the norm for legacy hunters to feel connected to each another, because I
do
feel some sort of weird kinship with Peyton and Annalee, both.

Annalee’s name keeps popping up in the Black Book lately. I found some of her earlier kills, but then for four months—nothing. Ames says that happens when a demon hunter takes a vacation or even a staycation in order to regain control of their Hanta. He suggested I take some time off so I could read some of the three thousand books on demons, demonology, witchcraft, and the supernatural sitting on the bookshelves in my lair.

I did managed to take a little break after I was a virtual killing machine for a month before finally coming to my senses.

I’m well over that now...at least, I think I am. It’s difficult to tell when there are two spirits sharing one body, you know?

Now, I just do my usual nightly rounds, just to let the demons know my piece is still on the playing board.

I still like to check in on the coven, on my friends, and especially on my mom—just to make sure everyone is safe and tucked in for the night. Ames wants me to stop doing it, but I can’t. I sleep better knowing I’ve done my patrol.

Speaking of sleep, I think I’d better hit the hay. I’d thought about seeking Cassandra out for what she calls Midnight Muff Munching, but when I stopped by the coven, there were cars on the street and a bustle of activity, so I decided to skip it.

I had to fight the Hanta a bit. It loves sex. Well, sex, Fireball whiskey, and weird-ass foods like crawdad brains and cow tongue. Go figure.