Demon Lord 4: White Jade Reaper by Morgan Blayde Page A

that was me all right: sitting in the back of an ambulance, surrounded by EMTs, a ritual dagger jutting from my shoulder.  That’ll teach me to fuck an aboriginal witch without disarming her first.  Bitch tried to feed me to Kurpannga, the hairless devil-dingo of the Dreamlands.  
    Infiltrating the EMTs was a pet project of the witches in L.A. who helped clean-up the city after major occult battles so humans could go back to blithe ignorance of the fragileness of their lives.   
    Inaudible to others, my cock spoke to me (as he often does): One of my best performances, ever .
    “It wasn’t actually a coven,” I said.  “More like an Australian dwarf and her demon familiar.”
    “Were you scared?”
    “Yeah, for a second; I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to get
    off a fourth time, but I managed.  Fortunately, the EMTs were able to hang out in the driveway while I finished up inside.”
    She set the paper back on the cart and slanted me a look.  “They say you’re a demon lord.”
    “By adoption, my father’s the Atlantean demon who runs the L.A. territory.”  And me.
    “So what are you?”
    “That’s my question.  I can tell you’re not exactly human, but all I smell is—talc?”
    She gave me a mysterious smile.  “So, what does that tell you?”
    “Hell if I know.”
    There was a double honk as my Shelby Mustang pulled into the parking lot, looking fierce in its black paintjob with gold-lightning jags for contrast.  I turned and scanned the body for signs of damage.  I saw none, which—for the sake of the girls—was a good thing.  Of course, I was still planning on flipping them over my knees for a well-deserved spanking.  Madison at least.  The car rolled up into a nearby parking spot.
    The doors opened.  Madison slid out from behind the wheel.  I think she was the only one with a license.  Wearing a pastel green cowgirl hat that hid her mothy antennae, Grace emerged from the front passenger seat.  Onyx came out from the back, sheathed neck to foot in black.  His denim jeans were slashed out at the knees, flashing skin as he walked.  His tee-shirt had a picture of an anime girl wrapped in chains, wearing hot-pants and halter top, one eye dark, the other ablaze with blue fire.  She had some kind of massive rifle.  The logo said: BLACK ROCK SHOOTER .  His black sneakers were laced with acid-green strings.  Apparently, the girls had decided to dress him funny, not that he’d know that.
    Elena came around the cart to stand beside me.  I shifted my head to watch her peripherally.  Her gaze locked onto the Mustang.  “Sweet ride,” she purred.
    I nodded.  “I like it.”
    “Want to take me for a ride?” she asked.
    “My bed or yours?”
    She turned and playfully smacked my arm.  The casual blow staggered me, telling me she possessed strength far above human levels.  Elena said, “Not on a first date.  I’m a lady.”
    Grace came up and shoved a paper bag at me.  “Here, we thought you might be hungry.” 
    I was.  I took the bag.  The bottom felt warm from the food inside.  They hadn’t taken my car too far to get fed.  That at least was considerate.
    “And we put some gas in,” Madison added.
    Onyx nodded, standing behind her.  “Five whole dollars.”
    Grace glared at him for outing her cheapness.
    He looked confused.  “What?”
    “Never mind,” Grace grumbled.  She and Madison shifted their attention to Elena, taking her and the cart in with a measuring glance. 
    Onyx smiled at her and waved.  “Hey!”
    Elena smiled back, then turned her attention back to me.  “I really ought to finish up my shift.  How about I give you my number, and you give me a call later.  We can go out for drinks, or something.”
    I took out my phone, and let her add her number to my contacts.  I put my phone away as she gave her cart a push, sending it rolling on to the next room in need of cleaning.  Grace waited until Elena was a distance away, then looked to