Free Demon Lord 3: Blue Star Priestess by Morgan Blayde Page A

see.  You have mad bartending skills.  Now that’s impressive.  Just don’t tell me you use little paper umbrellas.”
    I itched to draw my gun and blow an ear-to-ear hole in him.  I looked at Gloria, wondering what it would cost to get her permission. 
    Her flame-bright eyes met mine.  She shook her head, maybe reading my mind, and mouthed a word: No .
    So much for that.  I got up and circled the bar to join Gloria.  Instead of giving me room to work, she stayed close.  Very close.  “Am I that irresistible?” I asked.
    She watched as I gathered supplies.  “I’ve never heard of this drink.  I want to watch you make it.”
    I shrugged and smashed two sliced limes with a pestle and mortar until all the juice drained out.  I added water, white sugar, and two ounces of cachaca —Brazilian rum stocked just for me—to the pulverized limes.  I mixed well and poured two glasses.  One was mine, but Gloria pried it—rather forcefully—from my hand and sipped it.  Her eyes closed in pleasure.  I slid the second glass over to Gray.
    His white eyes stabbed through me like a winter wind on the dark side of Pluto.  His stare relented in some way, becoming that of just another blind man, as his sweeping hand found the glass.  He picked it up, took a sip, and then a mouthful.  “Okay, one lame-ass prophecy coming up—you’re going on a journey.”
    I stared.  “That’s it?”
    “A long journey.”
    I reached for the drink he held.  “Give that back!”
    He pulled back, hauling the drink out of reach.  “I can’t give you no more.  She’ll kill me, or worse.”
    I pulled my hand back.  “She?”  I sent Gloria a measuring stare.
    She held both hands up in a warding off gesture.  “Hey, leave me out of this.”
    “Not her.”  Gray jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Her!”
    I looked where he indicated, and if I weren’t a real man, icy talons of fear would have clutched my heart.  My head felt stuffed with cotton panties, muting the bar sounds.  I’d have ducked under the bar, but I have a reputation to uphold. Next to me, Gloria followed my stare.  She went as still as a mouse trying to avoid the interest of a hawk.  “What the hell is she?  I’ve never felt so much power.”
    I couldn’t answer, nor did I want to.  My hand strayed to the red pearl on the necklace I wore.  I felt my eyes go all dragon on me: all edges sharpened, and where I focused, images rushed closer, exploding with detail my human eyes would have missed.
    The better to see you with, God help us all.
    Across the room—beyond a sea of tables and a clueless crowd—stood the Red Lady.  Young, heart-shaped, her face showed none of the ages she’d lived.  She sipped pink champagne from a glass with a smear of crimson lipstick on it.  Her nails and curve-hugging dress were a matching red.  A side slit allowed a flash of tone legs as she moved.  She looked good in the color of blood.  Her red-crystal eyes, like bottomless pools, were on me—hell-bright with the light of obsession.  The glass she held turned to pink mist, ghosting away as she dismissed its reality.  She moved with unyielding deliberation, empty hands at her sides, her gossamer dress frothy with dancing lace.  About to walk into tables and seated guests, she went translucent, becoming an intangible mirage drawing ever nearer.  The patrons stared after her, their silence growing.
    This is so not going to end well, I decided .
    Gray picked up his caipirinha and scurried toward the door.
    “Hey, blind man,” I called.  “I better see you out.”
    Gloria gripped my arm like a vise.  I knew I’d have finger-shaped bruises by morning.  Any more pressure and the bone would crack.  She hissed at me under her breath, “Don’t you dare leave, and not take her with you.”
    The Red lady stopped by the stool Gray had abandoned.  Her brow furrowed with annoyance as her gaze took in Gloria’s possessive hand on my arm.
    Desperate to get