“Hey, Red Fang, look what the wolf dragged in.” —Caine Deathwalker

We walked in. Red Fang looked at me with widening eyes that were clear topaz, lacking irises or pupils. He stopped cleaning his tattoo gun, and ran over, grabbing my arm, sniffing it. He pried my eyes wide open with his other hand. His face stretched into a mask of amazement. "How did you get dispel poison in you, and over a rune at that? Did you go retarded or something?"

Tall, thin, and full of magic, his long white hair aged him. His stony skin was hard as scales even in human form. The frequent use of dragon magic had turned his skin, front and back, a vibrant crimson and his sides blue-green. He could have probably spelled the weird pigmentation away, but I just think he was too lazy, or simply didn't care.

"Good to see your perverted self too," I whispered, my voice rough and frail.

"Lady Wolf, take him to the back room. I'll call

Lauphram," Red Fang said. "He'll be pissed as Hell."

Angie hauled me away; pausing in the open door as the overpowering sweet-iron stench of old blood hit our senses.

The room was large and dragon runes scurried down the walls, writhed across the floor and clung to the ceiling. The stone altar in the center was where I usually bled, taking on tats. My blood stained every part of the slab; we were old friends.

"Put me there," I told Angie.

"What? That looks like a sacrificial altar."

I smiled. "It kind of is."

"Damn!" she said.

Angie carried me over and put me down. She looked back for Red Fang. We could hear him outside, yelling on the phone. I heard my name a few times, as well as "moron", "idiot", and the phrase "too stupid to live". The stone was cold and hard under me. Angie's hands withdrew. I missed them at once. Above me, my gaze traced the dragon runes, laboriously deciphering the grimoire until it dimmed out, and my thoughts sank into velvet darkness.

* * *

The gray cliff was high with a steep slope, loose shale, and few handholds. It had almost killed me getting up here. Old Man sat at the edge, feet dangling over the drop. Blood discolored his front teeth as he tore at fresh—raw—venison from a deer I'd killed. Hauling the butchered meat on my back hadn't made the climb any easier.

He said, "You've done well this time out."

I was ten and he'd left me in a forest for three months with only the most basic supplies so this was a compliment. I took a seat next to him

He handed me a well-gnawed bone. I was surprised he hadn't cracked it and sucked out the marrow.

"I've decided to let you get inked…," he said.

My first rune tattoo, a proud moment. Red Fang had been ready for years, I'd just needed to get Old Man's nod.

He stood; feet planted midair, and brushed himself off, as if he'd climbed up here instead of using demon magic. Abruptly, he pointed to something down below.

My heart glowing with anticipation, I leaned out to look.

He jerked me off the edge. Gravity did the rest. I skidded down, heels digging into the surface, rocks gouging my ass and legs.

"…If you live," he added.

Darkness washed in, smothering the scene, swallowing me for a time, then another dream formed…

Gray hovered next to me. The half angel looked like he needed a shave. His blind white eyes had a bit of a glow to them. He wore jeans, a polo shirt, and his usual Raider's jacket.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Prophetic dream," he said.

"So I ought to pay attention."

"I would, if I weren't blind."

I looked down from the enveloping darkness, my words bounced around my head. Like being in a cave…

There were additional murmurs, sibilant, heated words expanding and echoing back from unseen walls. Dreaming, I floated in darkness, a disembodied spirit. Below me, a meeting

was in progress. A table stretched like a runway. The dark wood shone; glossy, catching highlights from two antiques Tiffany lamps, one at either end. There was no paperwork, no files, such as might be expected in a corporate boardroom. Water pitchers and a coffee mess waited on a trolley off to the side. I counted a dozen chairs, all occupied, mostly by men, but a few women were present as well. From this angle, I had an excellent view.

Ah, cleavage! Gotta love it.

The woman with the largest breasts made them jiggle by slapping the table with both palms. Her nails were bright red. "This is ridiculous! Obviously, I should go first."

A man in a midnight blue long coat, with spiky yellow hair, leaned forward against the table, staring straight across at her. "There's nothing obvious about it to me. This family has long retained my services for matters just like this. You wouldn't even be at this meeting if you weren't sleeping with—"

The gray haired man at the head of the table roared, "Enough! Such bickering has no beauty to it. All of us need to test the upstart so we will know if he is worthy of the blood he carries, and we will do it in an orderly fashion as always."

"Rock, paper, and succors?" the woman asked.

"No," the boss stabbed the table in front of him with a jeweled dagger. "We will gut a chicken and read the haruspicy."

The spiky-haired man stood, pushing his chair away from the table. "I'll go get the chicken."

* * *

My eyelids felt too heavy to lift. I heard the tattoo gun humming. It hurt worse than normal. My right arm felt like it was melting in magma. Someone screamed. The voice was familiar.

Oh, me.

I stopped and forced my eyes open a crack. Red-Fang held my arm, trying to fix the tattoo to stop the feedback loop of magic gone bad. The swelling and discoloration was gone. The poison had been drained from my arm. From the marks, I think he'd used leeches; talk about Old School. Of course the leeches hadn't gotten all the poison out of my system. The crushing weakness I felt testified to that.

Red-Fang's focus made my arm his entire universe. I don't think he realized I was even awake. The fresh ink he infused me with had a dark red hue. It changed into various colors as it hit my skin. He'd finished half the repair. Magic trickled into my veins and arteries.

Red-Fang paused and looked into my eyes. He forced my right eye to open wide, and then checked the pulse in my neck. I felt the warm slither of magical residue tingle across my face. He'd used a helluva lot of magic to still have that much lingering on his hand. He didn't say a word, just went back to work.

I heard the creak of a chair on my left. A wet cloth appeared to wipe away my sweat. As the cloth withdrew, I rolled my head to see who else was here.

It was Angie, looking half as sick as I felt. Her face was tight, pale, her eyes were werewolf yellow. Her red hair was a mess, and her shirt had my blood on it. A small table crowded her. Several folded washcloths lay there beside a basin of cool water. I saw an empty, murky purple bottle with a black and gold label. The label had the picture of a unicorn beetle on it, antlers raised in defiance.

That's when a vile taste finally registered in my mouth.

What the hell have they been pouring into me?

Angie put the wet cloth back in the basin. Her hand shook. Looking tired, she laced both hands together. "How long have you been here?" I asked.

She looked at me and then down at her own shirt, brushing at various stains. "A while."

I grunted at her non-answer. "Do I want to know what you guys made me drink?"

Red-Fang said, "A potion to counter the poison. It will take a while to do its job, but you won't die."

I rolled my face toward him, "Not ever?"

"Not from this latest disaster anyway," he said. "By the way, what's with the dragon child? You adopted?"

"No family," I said, "murdered. I was hoping you'd take her in."

He nodded. "What's another mouth to feed? I'll have my mate come down and pick her up."

"Thanks," I said.

Red Fang looked at me with an expression I couldn't decipher. "We dragons take care of our own."

I tried to stay awake, but was too weak. Slowly passing out, my mind reviewed what had happened. I'd never had a poison hit me like this. How could I have let a little girl cut me? How had she—and that freakish amulet of hers—pulled this off? I had the feeling that when we met again, she'd be dying to tell me.

* * *

I fell out of perfect darkness into shadowy gloom. Huge, yellow piles of gold caught my attention. Assorted pieces of armor and numerous swords cluttered the aisles between them. Among the gold, faceted jewels flashed—rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Pearls, black and white, formed necklaces. There were even tiaras and crowns as if someone had raided a royal treasury

Precious. Shiny. Bright. I wanted it all

I looked toward the sources of light. Skeleton arms were embedded in smoke-blackened rock walls. The attached hands gripped the base of pitch torches. Where the rest of the bones were, I had no idea. The torches orange flames danced, wagging in a gentle breeze that suggested an opening to the cave system wasn't far off.

I looked down at myself, and through myself. I was translucent like a ghost with a blob of hazy golden light where my heart ought to be. I wore black-crystal armor worked to suggest a reptilian theme with scales and spikes. My armored boots had claw-tips at the toes. And I stood midair.

Yep, definitely a dream.

A guardian hunched near the piles, a great scaled beast, eyes bright, tail rippling. A real dragon. His long neck swung so he faced me. The same as Red Fang's, his eyes were topaz, pulling me into a crystal sea. Words like black smoke hissed through my mind. A greeting? A warning? I didn't know. At least the beast wasn't attacking. There was no hint of dragon magic searing the air.

I looked to see who else might be here, and spotted Old Man standing next to a young couple. My adopted father held a white cloth bundle in his arms. The bundle was small, pressed against his chest. A small fist rose up from the cloth. A baby explored the textures of his face.

The strange male had the biggest sword I'd ever seen strapped to his back. A yellow tanzanite adorned its pommel. His short, black hair had smudges of gray that didn't match his energetic, youthfulness. His craggy face caught shadows easily, wearing them like a mask. He wore strategically placed piecemeal armor—plain and matte black—over vital points; a true warrior's armor that had passed through many battlefields. The choice of pieces over a whole suit of armor told me his fighting was built around speed and skill, more than power. He was a hit-and-run fighter, not an impregnable fortress in his mentality.

The woman stood a few feet back from him. Her long, black hair had highlights of red and silver. She held her hands to her face, shielding it as she cried. Her liquid silver dress reflected the gold piles everywhere. Drawn by her sobs, the dragon waddled over and dropped his huge paw on top of her head, clumsily comforting her.

The man stepped closer to Old Man, reaching to the bundle that held the baby. The warrior brushed the baby's hair, his obsidian gauntlets glinting with white-gold runes on the cuffs, the same kind of runes I used.

He backed to the woman's side. They couldn't have been more mismatched. She was inches taller, thin, and delicate. He was short and extra-wide. Under the armor pieces, you could tell he was all rock-hard muscle, the type always ready for battle. But when he reached out to claim her hand, he was gentle.

He said, "We'll be back one day, Old Man. Keep him alive 'til then."

A silent specter to the meeting, indignation flooded me. Old Man had always told me my parents were drugged out hippies that had abandoned me on a Wiccan altar in some nameless forest. The bastard had lied!

* * *

I woke up on my back, under soft sheets. There seemed to be something particularly important I needed to remember from the depths of a dream, but as I tried to hang onto it, the dream faded, leaving a faint taste of rage in my mouth. What the hell had I been doing in my sleep?

The pillows under my back and head propped me up so I could see. I was back in my own room. The curtains were pulled back, the window open. Sunlight brightened things unpleasantly. Black and red décor was meant for night viewing. My guns and blades occupied a kitchen chair that had been placed in front of the window. The clothes I'd worn lay under them, washed, dried, and folded.

I pulled my aching arm from under the sheet and saw bandages. Well, at least I still had the arm.

I eased off the bed. Someone had put me in gray sweatpants. I hated sweatpants. I didn't even own any. I stripped them off and left them on the floor. Whoever wanted them could pick them up.

Leona and Izumi were talking outside my room in the hall. Normally, I'd have paused to listen in, but I felt too weak for casual loitering. With aching slowness, I made my way toward the master bathroom. The room was large with a four-person Jacuzzi. In addition to the usual amenities, a condom dispenser was attached near a gold-plated sink that matched the showerheads, and toilet handle.

I went to the frosted shower door and opened it. The inside space could also hold four people, if they were very friendly. I turned on the water, feeling the spray with my good hand. I balanced the temperatures until the stream reached the warmth of fresh spilt blood—just what I needed to feel better.

I left the shower door open so steam could warm the room, and went to face the mirror. My hair was spiky and tangled. The bags under my reddened eyes were dark. I hadn't looked this bad since my first hangover. The only color on my chalky skin was from my tattoos.

Carefully, my arm over the sink, I took off the bandage. Underneath, the tattoos looked great. There was a new, white scar four inches long—sensitive as hell—in which fresh ink had set. My tat had been restored, completing the once broken circuit. First time I ever needed this kind of a patch job; I was glad it came out good. Normally, my tattoos healed as slowly as anyone else's. Red-Fang must have felt sorry for me, throwing in a booster spell. I wondered if he'd bill me for that.

I returned to the shower, closing the frosted door behind me. The water burned my healed arm a little as I applied body wash everywhere, enjoying getting clean.

I heard soft, padded footsteps as someone walked into the bathroom. Touching the glass near the latch, my finger traced a small rune. My side of the door cleared, giving me a perfect view of Leona. The leopard didn't say anything, waiting, her bright yellow eyes fixed on what would still be a frosted glass door to her.

I finished up, killed the water, and stepped out.

I grabbed a towel off a shelf, dried, and dropped it in a hamper. By then, Izumi appeared in the doorway, her gaze molesting me in a good way. Ignoring the ladies, I pulled a drawer open under the sink and extracted the box that had my straight razor inside. The boar's hair shaving brush floated out. A can hissed and provided it with lather. Leona did such things for me when I was hurt. I used the brush to prep my face and I pulled out the razor.

"You sure you should be doing that?" Izumi said.

"I have to shave," I said.

"But your hand's shaking." She said.

I looked at her in the mirror as she came in and stood behind my shoulder. "Izumi, unless you're going to help, shut up and bail. I can use some privacy for what will probably be a dangerous little ritual."

They both went.

I threatened my hand with a soul-withering glare. It stopped shaking, and I got the job done. I put everything away and returned to my bedroom. The girls were sitting beside each other on the foot of my unmade bed. The sweatpants I'd left in the floor had been picked up, folded, and placed on my pillow like a gift from a cat. Leona?

Still naked, I walked to a chair by the window. I stood there looking out at crows hopping on my lawn; had to be an omen though I didn't know of what.

The small hairs at the base of my neck tingled. Shifting my hips, I checked over my shoulder. Leona was looking past me, out the window toward the crows, as if she knew they were there. Izumi was looking at my ass. Women are hornier then man, they just hide it better, most of the time.

"Take a picture it will last longer," I said.

"I already have, the camera is in my safe" Izumi said.

"What! When?" I asked.

"Who do you think changed you?" Izumi said.

"Leona, you let a demon near me when I was vulnerable?"

"Hard to turn down a grand for every picture, and can you put some pants on already. I've seen more of your junk lately then I have all year."

I put the laundered clothing back on and secured my weapons where they could easily be drawn. Weighed down with them, I felt human again.

So what now?

I needed to find out quite a few things. I was going to have to do some research, one of the many reasons why I hate jobs like this. Good thing my office was a bar. I was going to need a very large drink. The only kind of research I'm normally good at involves undressing nineteen year old supermodels and putting them to bed.

I grabbed a few books from my shelves and took them out into the hall. There was no sign of Old Man. I went slowly, not quite a new man, and felt tired again by the time I reached the office. Walking in, I saw Leona sitting on the bar. Izumi sat on a bar stool. They watched me with piercing stares as I settled in a well-padded recliner by an unlit fireplace.

I opened a book, holding it up in front of my face. "Hey, can someone get me a drink?"

Izumi's icy tones lowered the temperature in the room. "You're hurt, you look like hell, and you want to drink?"

"I deserve a drink precisely because I am hurt and look like hell," I said.

Leona jumped off the bar and headed for the door, her tail a stiff club swaying in her wake. She said, "We'll be back in a few. Izumi, let's get him his drink."

Izumi rolled her eyes, and followed Leona out.

I rolled my eyes as well. I hate it when people watch over me when I'm hurt. Hell, I'd be happy left alone, without an ice princess or spirit leopard to help lick my wounds.

On the coffee table was a new stack of books. Old Man had been here, doing research of his own. Curious, I looked at what he'd gathered. They contained folklore on succubae. Bookmarkers were set in numerous locations. I put aside my books on ancient talismans and thumbed through what he'd left for me to find.

There were three bookmarks on one page in the middle book. Ah-hah! A clue. The marked passage highlighted a very special succubae clan. They didn't give birth to children, but recruited from humans, turning them through some kind of dark ritual involving a kiss beneath a dark moon—usually followed up with an orgy. He'd hoped for details, and pictures, but there weren't any.

There was plenty else on the demons, one of the oldest succubae clans around. Few in number, they'd been around a long time, steeping themselves in the oldest magic. Most other demons feared them. The succubae were known to enthrall large numbers of humans just being near them. The thing that got me was that they'd wait as long as it took to get a special human they liked. By turning a human female, they didn't run the risk of giving birth to a domineering incubus, or to a weak succubus. They made sure every generation was stronger—and female.

I set the books aside, sliding deep into thought. A ritual that turned a human female into a demon would take a lot of power, and a spell caster that knew the ritual. The succubus would require a place of power. It had been no coincidence that he'd found Sarah at the Mission. She was working with the succubus. I'd seen high-level spells in action before. There was little chance a spell-caster could control and focus that amount of power, and do the spell at the same time.

Unless…the amulet. It could run any spell—no matter how advanced—all by itself. That explained why a lone succubus needed Sarah's help to transform Haruka. The succubus was probably the source of the dispel poison that worked even on me. The deeper mystery was where Sarah had laid her mitts on a relic that was almost alive.

Could it contain trapped souls? They have a lot of power. I remembered back to the battle at the mission. The amulet hadn't seemed to possess life force, only magic. That thing's going to give me a headache yet, I can tell. There's no way I can go after Haruka until I come up with a counter to what Sarah's using.

Izumi came back with my drink, but without Leona. Instead, Angie strolled behind. They swept toward me, their faces betraying nothing. Mental note; never play poker with these two. And here I'd thought Angie didn't have a poker face.

Izumi offered me the glass. I smelled rum.

I took the glass that was frosty cold due to her hands. "That's more like it."

Izumi stepped back and faded magically in a swirl of snowflakes, her voice lagging a little behind, "Later, love."

Angie dropped into the other recliner, sitting cross legged in