The Last Slayer by Nadia Lee Page A

you can’t mass-produce powerful magic.
    Of course people tried. Medicinal mages made good money working for big pharmaceuticals. They couldn’t heal, but could imbue drugs with magical properties. TriMedica had a lab full of such mages a couple of miles away from the main buildings.
    “What does the triumvirate want?” I said.
    “We don’t know yet.”
    I shook my head. “Best to find out. But you know you’ll never be able to strike a winning bargain with them.”
    “Our lawyers worked on the contract for a long time.”
    “A long time?” I laughed. “Supernaturals have been doing this sort of thing for centuries.”
    Andersen didn’t answer.
    What a stubborn corporate drone. Still, he was a client, and I had a fiduciary duty to make him understand. “We don’t even bargain with low-level supernaturals because we lose ninety-nine times out of a hundred.”
    “These are professional negotiators.”
    I pointed at Apollyon. “How old do you think he is?”
    Andersen shrugged. “A hundred? Two hundred?”
    “At least five hundred.”
    He frowned. Apollyon glowed with cherubic innocence as he smiled at Swain’s bodyguards, but the curve of his lips held a faint hint of feline anticipation. He raised a hand, brushed a lock of short golden hair back and tucked it behind one ear. The motion was too human, too casual.
    “The longer they live, the more powerful they become, especially someone classified as a demigod.” I could see Andersen start to get it. He wasn’t really dumb, just bureaucratic. It took time for his mind to adapt.
    “Well, what do we do?” he finally asked.
    “I don’t know. I wish you’d told me earlier about Swain’s plan.”
    “I didn’t think it was important.”
    Translation: he didn’t think I needed to know until he’d felt that wash of magic in the air and gotten spooked by it. At least he’d had the good sense to be scared. Lots of people refuse to admit their fear, and in my line of work they’re usually the first to die.
    Andersen was scowling again. “Just stay in the background as much as possible. Mr. Swain doesn’t want anything to disrupt the itinerary.”
    “I get it. Don’t talk to anyone, blend in with the furniture. Oh, and if a dragonlord suddenly decides to go crazy, save the day. That about right?”
    The furrows between his eyebrows deepened. Despite our less than auspicious beginning, I felt bad for him. It wasn’t his fault that corporate America had limited his scope. “Look,” I said, “it’s your job to keep your CEO safe, and it’s my job to help you. I’ll do what I can.”
    Reassuring words, but there was very little I could do. Delicate negotiations aren’t exactly my strong point. I could protect Swain physically, but not much more. He could sign his soul away to the dragonlords and wouldn’t even realize it until it was too late. And if he thought he would be able to work it out later through lawyers and the court system, he was deluding himself.
    Several fast-track executives and managers from TriMedica had joined us. One of them looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He seemed too young to be an executive already, but maybe he, too, had gotten some chemical help. An aura of dark power, the kind necromancers have, shifted around him. It felt raw, only half-trained. I wondered to what extent he could tap into it and bend it to his will.
    The upper management introduced themselves to the dragonlords. Judging from the smiles, TriMedica had the world’s best dental plan. The dragonlords looked at them indulgently, the way you would at overeager puppies.
    I sighed at the spectacle but didn’t say anything. Several of the firm’s hunters were positioned around the area. They’d been chosen for their expertise and skills, and normally I would’ve had absolute confidence in them. But not today. At least Blake wasn’t tapping his foot anymore.
    Swain looked around. “Now that we have everyone, why don’t we move to the