Holly opened the cover, then lifted the thin sheet of onionskin covering the first illustration. It was a black-and-white etching, a snarl of shadows and torchlight and stone walls melting into a maze of tunnels. She could almost feel the cold, damp drafts rising off the page.
"Who knows how accurate that drawing is, but it fits every description given of the place. It's like a prison. A big dungeon. Some people call it the Castle." Grandma shrugged. "Not a very original name, but it was built long ago."
"By whom?"
"Human sorcerers."
Holly carefully turned the page. "Is there a picture of the outside?"
"There is no outside. The entire world is inside those halls."
Holly turned back to the illustration. It was like Escher meets Dracula. "Could use some throw cushions."
Grandma smiled, but her eyes were serious. "Demons come from our world originally. The prison was a means of banishing them. They can't get back here unless someone summons them."
"So every time a demon shows up, there's been a prison break?"
"Yup."
Holly took a large gulp of tea, trying to wrap her head around the idea of an entire prison dimension crammed with demons. A flippant corner of her brain thought of high school.
Grandma went on. "As to why this specific demon was summoned, we can't begin to answer that without a lot more information."
"Then let's cut to the chase. How do we send it back to the slammer?"
"First of all, we have to find it. A piddly demon would never have made it through the portal, so it has to have power. It will be a master demon, and that means it can shape-shift. It won't look like a mouse anymore."
That has its pros and cons, thought Holly. She never wanted to see that mouse again.
Grandma took a sip of tea. "A very powerful demon appears human. You can't tell the difference just by looking. You can't even tell the difference sharing magic. Only deep Sight will reveal its true nature."
"Human?" Holly was surprised. "Any demon I ever saw looked like a dark, dirty cloud."
"That's a demon's weakest form. Human form is hardest. In between, they can assume an animal shape. Usually snakes or rats—they like the ick factor." She paused, pursing her lips. "Anyway, nothing less than major spellcraft will work on a master. And you have to work fast, because the first thing it will do is make more servants on this side of the portal."
Holly had eaten a few mouthfuls of cinnamon bun, but now pushed the plate away. "How does the Turn—whatchamacallit—the Dark Larceny work?"
Grandma shook her head. "I don't know exactly." She paused, memory lighting her eyes. "I had an offer for it once. A very handsome man—well, I thought he was a man until I learned otherwise—promised me the moon and stars if I would just let him taste my soul." She smiled wryly as she spooned sugar into her tea. "A bad bargain, but he was extremely nice to look at."
"Oh, Grandma," Holly said in a teasing tone. She never knew how many of her grandmother's war stories to believe. Except… her story almost exactly mirrored what Alessandro had said about being Turned.
"Those were good days." Grandma gave a short, dry chuckle. "So, back to the immediate problem. If you're going to protect yourself from a demon, you have to think about where your routine takes you each day."
"Oh, crap." Holly smacked her forehead with the heel of her palm.
"What?"
"Tomorrow's the first day of classes. I can't go to school with a demon on the loose."
Grandma waved a dismissive hand. "Well, on the positive side, you're safer with others around. Demons prefer a sneak attack. A crowded campus is the perfect safety zone."
Holly shook her head. "I don't know. Demon hunting sounds pretty full-time."
"What do you want to do?"
"Well, I want to go to classes, of course. Everything's set to go." She felt a wave of unreasoning, frustrated stubbornness. "I want my business degree, for my sake and for the sake of the Three Sisters Agency. I'm tired of not knowing how to work smart. But once again life gets in the way of big plans."
Grandma sat up straighter. "Then go to classes."
"But—"
"We'll manage. You can't let a demon ruin your semester."
Doubt and disbelief vied for top billing. "How can I just show up for class?"
"There're protection spells. I have books of them. If you want school to work out, sweetheart, you have to go for it. Take some risks. Sometimes young people are too cautious."
"But protection spells can't be enough. There has to be something more we can do."
Grandma narrowed her eyes. "Such as?"
"Get rid of the demon for good. How do you kill a master?"
Grandma shook her head. "Witches aren't strong enough to kill them. For a permanent solution, you have to send the demon back where it came from and then seal the portal behind it."
Holly swallowed her tea the wrong way. "That sounds up close and personal."
"Yes." Grandma said the word quietly. It hung in the air in a gust of cigarette smoke. "But Elaine Carver, one of the original members of our Three Sisters Agency, did it back in 1885."
"I've heard about this," said Holly. "There was a war between a master demon and the vampires back then. The demon had gathered all kinds of followers."
"Including the Flanders family, which is interesting all on its own. Anyway, the story goes that Elaine opened a full-blown portal in the customs house right by the inner harbor. She sent the master demon and many of its servants packing."
"How'd she do it?"
"I don't know. I've never seen the spell. Can't be the one you want, though."
"Why not?"
"Killed her. Backwash of power was too much."
"Oh." That's a big help. Holly stood up and walked to the window. She had no idea what was outside. She was blinded by a stampede of thoughts and emotions, panic leading the herd.
Grandma cleared her throat. "As I said, protection is the way to go. As for something more than that… well, it's hard to find good demon hunters these days, but maybe there's someone we could call in."
Holly turned. "Good demon hunters all have waiting lists. There aren't enough witches left who could do it. The wait could be months, and this thing could have taken over half of Fairview by then."
"Better than you tangling with it. Magic shouldn't hurt you the way it does."
"Listen, that's no reason not to fight the demon. We can ward ourselves, but eventually someone's going to get hurt. I'll live with the pain if that means getting rid of the demon for good, and right now."
"Are you sure about that?" Grandma said, narrowing her eyes. "It's big-M magic. The biggest. It will be agony for you, and with some of these spells, failing in the middle is worse than never starting at all."
Holly's stomach did a slow roll of anxiety. "Strength isn't the issue. I beat the Flanders house. Besides, motivation is everything. The demon is standing between me and the quiet enjoyment of my calculus classes."
"You're sure you want to start down this road?"
The words came out on a shudder of breath. "I can do it I just need to know how."
There was a long pause. Holly looked away, afraid she would tear up. Fright? Pride? She wasn't sure what she was feeling. This wasn't a step she wanted to take, but there was no way around it.
"Then we'll work on booting this critter back to jail."
Grandma ground out her cigarette butt, her eyes lowered. "You are your mother's daughter, you know that?"
"Thanks," Holly said, suddenly feeling like a child again.
"There's got to be something in all the books and notes we've gathered up over the generations. If not, I know people to call for information. In the meantime, you can borrow O'Shaughnessy's Charms and Protections and beef up the guardian spell on the house. Keep out any more surprise guests. Book's on the bookcase, third row down. Have a look at chapter eight."
Holly pulled the book off the shelf. It was so old, the dark brown l
eather was flaking off the binding. "Hey, it's got pictures, too. Do you think some of these talismans would work?"
"Not the ultimate answer, but they'll be helpful until we figure out something more permanent. I could whip up a few this afternoon while you look after the house."
Grandma's expression was unexpectedly chipper, as if this were going to be the most fun she'd had in years. By Holly's calculation, it had probably been a decade since her grandmother had seen active service. Perhaps there was only so much canasta an old witch could take before she started jonesing for a dustup with the forces of darkness.
Stiffly, Grandma got to her feet and opened a drawer in the buffet where she stored her magical tools. She began pulling out vials of dried things, balls of twine, and feathers—the makings for charms and wearable spells. With arthritic hands she unwrapped a tiny white-handled sickle, caressing it like an old lover.
"Still sharp," she said, running her thumb against the blade, but she might have been speaking of herself as well.
"Would a talisman work for Alessandro?" Holly asked, laying the book open on the table and resuming her seat. "He's fighting the demon, too."
"Sure. So you're still working with him?"
"Yeah," Holly said, unable to stop heat from rising to her cheeks. Grandma knew very well that Alessandro was still in the picture. She was just fishing for information.
Grandma set the knife down carefully. "I like him, and I've known him from long before your mother was born, but I'd be careful. Vampires aren't like us."
"He's a good partner."
"Of course he is, but I know what it's like working with the vampires. The rush reminds me of that first whiff when I open a box of dark chocolates. There's so much sweet potential there, but also one helluva stomachache."
"Alessandro is not the bonbon in my life, dark chocolate or otherwise." A horrible idea slithered into Holly's imagination. "Alessandro wasn't your bonbon?"
"Heavens, no. I never once took off so much as a corner of the foil wrapping. I was in love with your grandfather, and that was that. I had the power to be immortal, but he was human, so I chose to be mortal as well. I gave up using the high magic that kept me young."
"Couldn't have been an easy decision." There's the understatement of the decade.
"Choices are easy if you know your own heart. I knew mine." Grandma gave a sly smile.
Holly's cell rang, which gave her an excuse to dodge that look. "Holly Carver."
"It's Conall Macmillan." The dark, strong voice was immediately recognizable.
"Detective. What can I do for you?" What now? He kept me at the crime scene for hours. What more could he possibly want to know?
"Something, um…" He stalled, sounding uncertain. "I'm wondering if you could answer some questions for me. I need some advice. Nothing related to the Flanders case."
Holly relaxed a little. "How can I help, Detective?"
He cleared his throat. "Call me Mac. Can we meet?"
Anxiety shot back up to the red zone. "Okay. Sure. Where?"
"Uh… look." There was another awkward pause. "This is more personal than anything else. I'm home today… Uh, can you come over? Coffee? I can cook if you want dinner. But if that doesn't work for you we can meet wherever you want. Soon, I hope."
That rambling didn't sound at all like the Detective Macmillan she had met. Personal? Dinner? What should she make of this?
"Um, I guess so," she replied. "Are policemen allowed to break bread with… what would I be—a subject matter expert?"
He gave a short laugh. "Sometimes they even let us go to places with real tablecloths. Listen, if you're okay with it, do you mind coming to my place? I wouldn't normally ask, but what I want to talk about is kind of private."
Uncertainty coagulated in Holly's stomach. "Okay. Where do you live?"
He gave her an address.
"How about eight thirty?" Holly asked. "I've got a few things to do that I can't put off."
"Then let me make you dinner. I'm a really good cook," he said. "You won't regret it."
She caught a note of unguarded enthusiasm. It was reassuring. "Sure. Why not?"
"Look, I appreciate this."
"You're welcome."
"Perfect. Later." He hung up.
Holly frowned at the phone, then set it down on the table. Not twenty-four hours since breaking up with Ben, she had an invite that sounded oddly datelike. A pang she couldn't name sliced through her. Guilt? Sorrow? Apprehension?
While she'd been talking, Grandma had opened the paper to read the headlines. "Another murder. They think it's a vampire doing the killing," she said, scanning the lead story. "How many is that so far this month?"
She passed Holly the newspaper section. She read quickly and then turned the page to scan a related article. A photo made her start. They'd caught Macmillan, all raincoat and wavy hair, in a candid shot outside the Flanders house. "Well, speak of the devil."
"Who's that?" Grandma asked.
"Detective Macmillan."
"You know him?"
"That was him on the phone."
Grandma looked slyly curious. "What's he like?"
Holly hesitated. "He's okay."
"You think he's cute," Grandma answered with an amused air.
"Do not." That was a lie. He was good-looking.
"What does Ben think of him?" she prodded.
Holly bit her lip.
"What's wrong?"
Holly sighed. As much as she wanted to avoid the Ben topic, the cat was out of the proverbial bag and already hair-balling on the carpet. "Ben and I broke up."
Grandma sat very still for a moment. "Oh. I'm sorry."
"He can't handle the witch thing."
"Idiot." Grandma tipped her ash. "I never liked him anyway. Where does this Detective Macmillan fit in?"
"He's invited me to dinner. Business." Holly set the paper on the table.
Grandma studied the picture and raised an eyebrow. Taking a long drag, she exhaled slowly and eyed Holly through the wreathing smoke. "Uh-huh. Wear something nice."
Chapter 12
The sun's last death gilded the belly of the clouds, darkness rising like water over the downtown streets. Alessandro strode toward Omara's hotel, making plans. It was early for his kind to rise, just dark enough for comfort, but he loved this hour when the night was new and the sidewalks jammed with life. Even after hundreds of years, he needed that sense of a fresh start.
He ran across the four-lane street, dodging cars. The line for the movie theater spilled over the curb, forcing him to swerve. When he regained his path he stopped cold, nearly forcing a skateboarder to run him down. Fixated on a new sight, Alessandro barely noticed.
John Pierce of Clan Albion was parking his silver-gray convertible down the street. All Alessandro's loathing of the vampire surged in, followed by a rush of curiosity. Why is that worm on the streets at this early hour? Usually a waster like Pierce would still be in bed.
Alessandro melted into the mouth of an alleyway that ran between two stores. Behind him was all Dumpsters and mildew, before him a panorama of bright lights and hustle. As usual he stood on the threshold, part of neither scene.
Oblivious to surveillance, Pierce checked his hair in the rearview mirror. His suit was pale gray, probably hand-tailored, if one judged by the fit. The vampire was dressed to kill.
At first he thought Pierce might be visiting Omara, but Pierce walked the other way, hands in his pockets, and turned the corner. Alessandro prowled after him.
Am I wasting time? Am I suspicious simply because I despise him? Maybe, but not so long ago Alessandro had been obliged to behead Pierce's brother. The execution had been a sign of the changing times. Stephan Pierce had beaten a local mechanic to death for ruining the engine of his Jaguar. Once, whipping or beating a peasant would have been an acceptable response to poor service, but for better or worse, times had changed.
Clan Albion hadn't. In their arrogance they barely acknowledged their o
wn queen, much less the authority of human police and judges. Nevertheless, human law demanded the execution of Stephan Pierce for the wanton murder of the mechanic. The trial—with mortals only, as no supernatural accused stood before a jury of supernatural peers—had taken no time at all. The sentence was death. The condemned had the option of staking by a human or, as a nod to cultural sensitivity, beheading by one of his own species. Stephan Pierce had chosen the latter. Alessandro and his sword had taken care of business as soon as the paperwork was filed with the courts. As Queen Omara's representative, that was his duty.
He had no illusions that the whole sordid episode had taught Clan Albion a damned thing.
Pierce led Alessandro to a five-star luxury hotel. The lobby was a wonderland of marble and objets d'art. Without glancing to either side, Pierce went into the adjacent lounge.
Perhaps the place was meant to be romantic; it was dark enough to make Alessandro grateful for vampiric night vision. Round tables were encircled by high-backed black leather couches that sheltered the patrons from general view. Fairy lights draped clumps of artificial palms, spangling the gloom with flecks of blue and white. A tasteful jazz track grooved in the background. Alessandro ghosted through the lounge, listening for Pierce's voice. It didn't take long. He was sitting by a window, greeting a human woman. Who was she to get a vampire playboy out of bed before full dark? Alessandro's curiosity doubled.
He sat behind an oasis of palms and ordered his usual red wine. His table was across the aisle from Pierce, but he had to slouch and angle himself to see past the enfolding arms of the tall, curved leather seats. The illusion of privacy worked both ways—it might be hard to see Pierce and his woman, but they had not noticed him. Score one for 007, Undead edition.
The woman was young, with bleached hair falling past her shoulders. She wore a scanty dress of electric blue that sparkled in the dim glow of the fairy lights. Not quite pretty, not quite a coed, but similar enough to the murder victims that he took notice.
Pierce was looking at her with the avarice of a lover.
What exactly is going on here? Vampires courted humans, and vice versa, but only in the vampire clubs, where such behavior was expected. There were two reasons: One, it kept the bald fact that vampires fed on blood out of the public eye. That was one of the unspoken conditions of their truce with human law. Two, Omara wanted to be the first lady in the heart of all her favorites. If this was a romantic encounter, Pierce was running a terrible risk.
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