I won the round.
Goody for me.
"She called me last night asking that I work for her and her associates,"
"Thank you," The incubus said, rising from his chair. Definitely over seven feet. He grabbed my hand roughly and shook it. The demon rose fluidly from his chair.
"I suggest you do not associate with her, because she is ruthless and will probably kill you if you do. Of course, if you don't she may kill you anyways," He and his partner walked towards the door. "Best of luck,"
"Well fuck you too," I hissed. The demon laughed. Even his laugh stunk with evil and menace. I could tell that he was powerful; he felt to be about fifty years old. The incubus was maybe only thirty, but still a considerable force to be reckoned with.
They left. I sat down. How the hell had they gotten inside. I inspected it but found no sign of it being picked, nor any indication of damage to the door. What, did I need to have it magically sealed now? Apparently I did. Another thing to add to my list. Along with Christmas shopping. I went and got dressed and jeans and a t-shirt, pulling on straps and holsters to buckle my guns and knives into place. I had a Beretta 92 on a hip holster for my right hand, and a smaller gun, the Beretta Nano in a holster at my back. I had a knife on each arm, and one in my boot. I liked being armed to the teeth, even if it resulted in sweating.
I went onto my computer and entered the supernatural database. Amanda Hart had a death warrant against her. I added her death to my to-do list. I went onto my phone and called back whoever had rung me at four in the morning. A man picked up.
"Ms. Castro, have you come around?"
"Hi, I'd like to speak with the woman who called me,"
"Ms. Hart isn't available right now, may I take a message?"
"When she wakes up, please tell her that I called," I spat angrily. There was silence.
"When she wakes up?" He asked tentatively.
"That's right, I have my sources, I know what she is. Tell her if she wants to talk to me about some deal that she can come talk to me herself,"
"Shall I arrange a meeting?" He asked. "How about Night Fantasy, in half an hour,"
"How about no. She won't been awake by then," I glanced at the clock. Two o'clock already? "And I'm not a big fan of bloody sex shows,"
"Too bad, your friend would really like you to go. Anna, tell her about the surprise," I gasped, they had Anna?
"Carmen, you've got to get down here! They pulled our table out of a draw, so we get an exclusive tour of the place. C'mon, Emma's here too!"
The phone was back in the man's hands. "C'mon down for the tour. Actually, we've even sent someone to pick you up. They should be there soon," The phone went dead. I pulled a chair facing the door and sat down, Beretta 92 in hands. My Beretta had a 9mm calibre, and my magazine held 15 rounds. That was quite enough I figured. Of course, it wasn't fully automatic, but that I could live with.
The doorbell wrung and I almost shot through the door.
"Door's open," I called. The doorbell wrung again. I walked to the window in my kitchen and looked outside. A man was standing there, and he appeared to be unarmed. He was human. I put my gun back in the holster and opened the door.
"Hi Ms. Castro. I'm supposed to escort you to Night Fantasy? Something about a tour?" He said, scratching his head.
"Yes," I answered, scrutinizing him. He seemed like a disposable lackey. An errand runner, so to say. I guess I was the errand. "I'll get my coat," I grabbed it off the hook and went outside. It did little to conceal the bulks of my weapons, but that was okay. He didn't seem to notice them. Truly just an errand-boy.
He brought me to his car, a black Bentley, and opened the back door for me. I peeked inside, but there was no one there. Maybe he was a chauffeur. He closed the door behind me. Click. Of course it locked. There was a glass divider between the front and the back, and I could tell that it was bulletproof. Nice.
The windows were so tinted I could hardly tell what was going on outside, but knew we were going to Night Fantasy. When we got to outside the club, instead of parking, we drove into an underground parking lot, mostly empty. My chauffeur got out and greeted a man, human, who looked to be six foot three and three hundred pounds. His arms were probably thicker than my waist. There was no doubt about his legs. He was almost as armed as I was, having an assault rifle over one shoulder with one spare pistol in his pocket. I couldn't see any knives. He pointed the rifle at the car and my door unlocked. I shuffled out, a headache pounding through my brain.
"Hands on your head, you know the drill," He instructed.
No, usually people don't point guns at me, thank you very much. The chauffeur got back into the car and drove off, leaving me alone with Buff Guy. "Put the guns on the ground". I dropped the 92 from its holster. "Both," He said, and I took my time placing the other one down. My hands returned to my head. He walked behind me, presumably to frisk me and invade my personal space. "You know the drill, arms out, legs apart," He said.
"Unless you work in construction, stop talking about fucking drills," I hissed. He hit the back of my head quickly, enough to cause pain but not enough to injure. I went spread-eagle for him. He ran his hands up and down my sides and limbs, managing to find all my knives. As he was bent over inspecting my calves, I slipped the gun out of his pocket and put it into my inner coat pocket. He didn't notice. After he straightened again, he prodded me forward with his gun, pushing me towards the stairs. I had quite the background in martial arts, and would have tried my chances against him if only he didn't have the gun. Yeah, assault rifles were a bitch.
Another muscle man appeared beside him, this one a were-leopard. He picked me up in one arm and tried to carry me somewhere.
"Put me down!" I said, elbowing him in the gut. He didn't flinch, merely trapping my arms in one hand. I continued to struggle against his superhuman strength as he brought me upstairs, aware of Buff Guy's gun pointing at us. I knew that a normal gun wouldn't kill the were, but the gun I had slipped under my coat was very possibly not a normal human gun, a comforting thought. We began to climb the stairs, and Kitty didn't even show any sign of straining himself. Buff a little less composed. That's the thing about guys that pump iron, they had no stamina. After about five minutes of jogging up stairs Buff began to fall behind. Kitty transferred me to over his shoulder, so I had a perfect view of Buff's panting. He looked at me. I smirked. He flipped me off.
The stairs stopped and we turned into a hallway that went on and on, then turned into more stairs, these ones going down. They were less level and smooth, causing Buff some troubling. He almost slipped. Kitty Kat shifted me again, holding me around the waist. At least this time I was facing forwards. The lower we went, the darker it seemed to get. I had pretty good eyes for a human, either thanks to genetics or my magic, but Buff wasn't so lucky. After a few minutes of jogging down, I could no longer hear Buff's footsteps he was so far behind. The stairs levelled out onto a cement floor. Buff was walking towards a steel bar door, leading to some sort of prison cell. I reached for the gun, now or never. The were shook me, trying to get me to stop squirming. I pulled my gun free and shot it, hitting the were's leg. He roared out, throwing me to he ground.
I shot him again in the chest, and ran.