Chasing the Dragon Read Free Page B

of
demon life would understand the true scale and monumental, suicidal
ambition of this enterprise. He added with a wry half-grin, "They're
all loyal to him, too, or he'd be occasional tableware by now."

    Her face went pale and seemed to age, flesh drawing closer to the
skull. "But it can't last," she said quietly. "So much money. So much
power. They'll all rise to challenge him. But why, Malachi? Why did
he do that?"
    Malachi shrugged, "No idea. That trip to Under surely did something to him. Thing is, the Otopians and the Demons have done this
fit-up together, with Faery help. They all see him as a major threat and
they want him gone and they want you to show yourself."
    She did the frown that made two tiny lines between her brows. It
made her face endearing, he thought, although he wouldn't dare say it.
"I don't really think he needs me...."
    "Not to protect him, you dollop. To hunt him," Malachi broke
over the top of her words with annoyance. "In demon law you're bound
to the task, as his wife, number one. Two, you stand to inherit both
ways if he dies, which effectively puts a human in charge of Demonia
for the nought point however many seconds you survive the office.
Three, he is a menace and you are about one of the only creatures who
stand a realistic shot at nuking him. Four, they want you back in
ranks. They've figured out you're the one behind the missing rogues
and their vanished agents-all the ones you disposed of on your
arrival-and they're willing to make you a serious offer."
    Her face was attentive, open, pleasant. God, he didn't like the look
of this.
    "I hate being the messenger!" He slammed the wheel with his
hand and closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. The taste of blood let him know he'd cut his own lip on his fangs. He fussed
with his handkerchief, realised it was silk, and started to look in the
glove box for a tissue instead. "If you bring them Teazle on a plate
they'll give you all the World Seven Technology and control of the
projects it was used in. They want you to lead that unit. You'll have
complete authority. The only person over you will be the president."

    She looked at him for one serious blue second. Then she burst out
laughing. She laughed so hard that tears streamed down her face and
got lost in the rainwater. Gasping for breath, holding her side with one
hand, "Oh that was good!" she panted in between snickers. "That must
have taken hours to make up. You really had me going! You bastard.
Queen of Demons and ruler of the Secret Cyborgs? That was a bit far.
Nice pictures though."
    He looked at the blood drops on the tissue paper and saw them
spreading slowly into seven giggling pixies. He screwed the thing up,
wound down the window, and shoved it out. "It's not a joke."
    "Oh, Mal," she patted his knee gently, her gales subsiding into gentle
rolling fits. Then, as he sat miserably wondering what it was he'd ever
done to make another second in Otopia worthwhile she coughed and
cleared her throat and her face started to fall. "Mal. Is it? Mal. No."
    "Where's the sword?" he asked her, dead straight. He knew it
would wipe the smile off her face and cursed himself when it did.
    "I've got it," she said, suddenly cautious. "Why? What is this?"
    "Someone at work knows about it. I don't know how. But they
know. That's why this is here now. They know that it's what you used
to dispatch the rogues. They want it. Or, they want to know what it
can do and make sure you use it for them if you use it at all. That's the
trouble with ancient artifactual objects ..." he trailed off and started
cursing ferociously in the faery speech so she couldn't understand him.
By the end of it he was gripping the wheel, his knuckles aching and
his fingernails grown into claws that cut into the skin of his hands. He
released them slowly and gently and turned again to her with a trou bled face, his orange eyes glowing through the black lenses of his
glasses