The Castle had turned off his need for food, and now the hunger came stampeding back. He carried the bags to the kitchen and set them on the table. “I’m going to wash up. There’s plates in the cupboard and silverware in the drawer.”
Lore watched him with dark, cautious eyes. “You’re asking me to eat with you?”
Mac scratched the back of his neck, a dozen smart remarks making a log jam in his head. “Do hellhounds eat Chinese?”
The hound seemed to consider his response far too long. “Yes. The food they prepare, that is.” Riiight. “Then grab a fork.”
Abandoning Lore in the kitchen, Mac took off his weapons and washed his hands and face. When he got back to the table, Lore was arranging a mountain of cardboard containers.
Mac had an urge to laugh. He had a nice dining room. He was a first-class cook with a drawerful of gourmet recipes. Yet, here he was, sharing a greasy takeout meal in his dirty kitchen with a hellhound—and loving the fact that he had a guest.
“I’ve got beer,” he said. “That’s about it.”
Lore looked up from wrestling the top off a Styrofoam container of rice. “That’s okay. I’m happy with water.”
Mac settled himself and picked up a serving spoon. Almond chicken. Mm.
Mac observed as Lore followed his example. The hound watched every move Mac made, mimicking until he caught on to the routine of dishing and eating and what to do with the soy sauce. He’s not had takeout before. But he’s picking it up damned quick.
And apparently enjoying it. Lore had a good appetite. Mac noticed his own hunger was calming down as he ate, a normal, healthy need for food being restored. That was a relief.
Remembering his manners, Mac got up and filled glasses with water. “So, this is great but, uh, what brings you here?” He set a glass in front of Lore.
“I thought if your stomach was full, you would listen to what I need to say.”
“Okay.” That’s kind of embarrassing.
“I want to explain to you about the hounds.”
“Okay.” Mac tore off some paper towels to use as napkins, and sat back down.
“Of all the species, we are the only ones to age and die, mate and have families within the Castle walls. The love of our pack gives us the strength to survive, but it also makes us vulnerable. When we escaped a year ago, we had to leave many of our number behind.”
Mac put down his fork, giving Lore his full attention.
The hound looked up, examining Mac all over again from head to toe and gauging his reaction. “As I said before, now that I am free, I can use magic to come and go from the Castle. I smuggle goods to buy back those of my people who have been captured for slaves.”
“What?” Then Mac connected the dots, veering around the fact that what Lore did was insanely dangerous on many levels. “Is that why the hounds aren’t on guard duty half the time? You’re running your operation at the same time you’re supposed to be guarding the Castle door?”
“Yes.”
Mac just shook his head, the security-minded cop in him scandalized in about six different ways, but he was beginning to see a bigger picture.
Lore went on. “The Vampire Caravelli has also hired wolves for guard duty. Many have helped us, but some have complained to their leaders. They do not agree with releasing more prisoners from the Castle. Soon, the council will meet, and it will punish me. I need your help.”
“My help?” Mac said.
“I need an advocate with the council of supernatural leaders.”
Mac busied himself with more fried rice. He needed a moment to think. “I’m no lawyer. Plus, the council hates me. I was a bad guy, remember?”
Lore leaned forward, his body language saying now that he had come to the point he wanted to make. “The hellhounds rank very low among the supernatural species. We survive however we can by staying humble, keeping to ourselves. We have not made powerful friends.”
That was true.
“So I brought Chinese food. You need to help.”
So Mac’s estimated street price was an extra-large order of fast food. Good to know. “Why me?”
“You are—blessed. The gods have appointed you. But you don’t want to hear that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you must find your own reasons.”
“And if the task is mine, I’ll already know what those are,” Mac said, remembering Lore’s line from their earlier conversation.
“Exactly.” The hellhound looked down at his plate. “Convince the council to give me permission to set my people free. And there are others trapped there, too, not just us. In times when all magic was considered evil, anyone with power was shut up in there—even beasts and birds. The Castle holds many who shouldn’t be imprisoned.”
Like Constance.
“You must make those in power understand that the Castle is the responsibility of all the paranormal species. We will only survive in a human world if we work together. That is why I sit and eat with you. Someone must begin bringing us together. It may as well start with me.”
Mac had a vision of Count Dracula leading a rousing chorus of “We Shall Overcome.”
The hound stopped, looking exhausted by the effort of speaking for so long. Shadows from the overhead light showed the strong bones in his face. “Will you help me?”
How the heck he was going to pull this one off? But the job needed doing, and Mac couldn’t think of anyone else who’d seen the side of the Castle he had—the part with innocent people who would like nothing better than to lead ordinary lives. Someone had to speak for the everyday main-street monsters, and he’d been hardwired to help folks in need.
“Sure.”
October 6, 11:00 p.m. The Castle
Ashe crept down yet another Castle corridor, a stake clutched in one hand, her boot knife in the other. Not nearly weapons enough, but she’d run out of bullets a thousand susurrating caverns ago.
She’d never seen anything like it—corridor after corridor, each gaping entrance like the last. Magic hung like a fog, sending the tattered remains of her witch-born senses into dust devils. When the spell she’d cast as a teenager blew up in her face, Ashe had lost the ability to manipulate energy—but she could feel power. Here, it pounded in her head like a migraine.
The flickering torches didn’t help. For a while they’d seemed kind of funky, like being sucked into a bad horror film. Now she’d had more than enough of the mood lighting, and—ugh!—the Goddess-knew-what creatures she’d blown to smithereens. Four of them, so far. Ashe had seen a lot of monsters in her day, and she wasn’t sure these even had a species—just bad tempers and worse breath.
She’d needed her gun and her hand-to-hand fighting skills to get rid of them. Tough beggars, with tusks. She’d pulled a muscle in the back of one knee.
It was a good fight, though. She’d liked that part. The rush never got old.
Needing to rest a moment, Ashe stopped at a corner. Every route away from this spot looked the same. She was lost. Time and direction had lost meaning back when ... well, she had no idea. How long did it take to get chased away from the door, bag your pursuers, and then figure out you were completely turned around? But after that, time had passed. How much, she couldn’t say. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, but she was getting incredibly tired.
How on earth was she going to find her way out?
I’ll get out. I always land on my feet.
And when I get out, I’m going to kill Caravelll for sure.
When I get out.
Doubt sloshed in her stomach like bad plonk. She started to think about her daughter and stopped. Eden was her joy and her weakness, and she couldn’t afford either right then. Now was time for the hard-assed attitude, because that would get her home.
This shouldn’t be happening. I’m a good person. I kill monsters to make the world a better place. It’s a valuable job.
She savagely clung to her last shreds of calm. Raiding a house full of bad guys was so d
ifferent. For one thing, there were doors. Where the hell is that door?
Something howled. Ashe jolted in fright. The sound echoed, pounding off the walls with ululations of such poignant despair that her knees turned to water. The cry rang in the stones, wave after wave, the aftershocks humming even when the sound itself had died away.
She hauled in her breath, sweat trickling down her ribs. Then she heard the scrape of nails on stone, the drag-flop of enormous paws, and panting like the bellows of hell’s own blacksmith. Worse, there was wet, thick snuffling.
An animal of some kind. Close.
Just around the corner.
No doubt she stunk of fear, like a nice, juicy, PreyBurger. And if I run, I’ll be a fun-filled meal. She barely worked up enough spit to swallow. Ashe was no coward, but she was no fool, either. Gripping her weapons, she prayed whatever it was would just go away.
A nose came around the corner, wet, black, and huge. It was followed by a head caked in matted brown fur. Drool trailed from its jowls in strings of slimy pearls. Oh. My. Goddess. It looked like a mastiff had mated with a prehistoric bear. And the mother of all dust bunnies.
“Viktor!” cried a young man’s voice.
The rest of the mountainous beast came around the corner, nearly brushing Ashe with its reeking fur. Reflexively, Ashe ducked. The beast gave a deep whuff and thumped her on the shoulder with a whack from its tail. Nerves tingled from the force of the blow, nearly making her drop the stake. Ashe danced to the side, taking up a defensive crouch, prepared to sell her life dearly.
A white shape swooped from the ceiling, too quick to make out. Ashe jerked back, one arm flung up to protect her face. The thing went past, air rushing with the snap of a kite in April breezes. The beast barked again, bounding into the air. The flying creature seemed to nearly collide with the beast’s head, then did a somersault midflight.
“There you are, old boy! You’re lucky we heard you! Why’d you come wandering back here? So what if it was home; don’t you know this isn’t a good place anymore?”
Ashe slowly came out of her crouch, her mouth open in raw amazement. A bat-winged angel was roughhousing with the huge, monstrous dog-thing. The angel? Boy? No, youth was a better word—had the thing by the ears and was half flying, half wrestling with it, laughing like a maniac.
It was one of the oddest sights Ashe had ever seen. She had an irrational urge to ditch her weapons and start taking pictures with her cell phone.
“Who are you?” said someone behind her. Ashe whirled, stake poised. Her mind blanked, cold and ready to kill.
A small woman, barely more than a girl, stared back at her. She was dainty, with long, thick hair the midnight shade of Chinese ink. Pale as a ghost. Ashe’s heart started to pound. Vampire.
The little vamp looked puzzled, and sniffed the air delicately. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous for a human.”
“Said the cat to the mouse,” Ashe said in a voice of ice water. “Well, news flash, girlie, this mouse bites back.”
The vampire raised one fine dark brow. “Well, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the most powerful of my kind, but if I really wanted to make a meal of you, I’d have caught you already.”
Her voice was light, her accent all Irish charm. Her eyes, though, were full of irony. “But I’ve learned my lesson. My last catch turned out to be a demon. Quite a disappointment.” The vampire gave an enigmatic smile. “But only in the culinary sense.”
Okay, why do vamps always insist on sharing too much information? Ashe held her position, every sense on full alert.
The vampire tilted her head. “But you do smell very, very tasty.”
Ashe felt every hair on her head standing up to do the wave. Goddess, get me out of here. She could jump the vamp, but the dog-thing was behind Ashe. Bat-boy was blocking the entrance to the corridor. She was pinned against the stone wall without even a mouse hole in sight.
The youth was approaching, his hands on his hips, silver hair falling loose around him. He wore nothing but what looked like silky pajama bottoms, his chest all bare, pale, lean muscle. The perfect picture of a Goth teen heartthrob. He would have been locker door material except for the huge beast shuffling along in his wake, drooling like Niagara Falls.
“Is the slayer bothering you, little mother?” he asked. Mother?
The vampire tilted her head, eyeing Ashe as if she might make a meal of her yet. “Nothing to worry about, but I think it’s past time she left. She seems very fond of that stake in her hand.”
Leave? I’d love to leave. Ashe remained still and silent, too wary to admit she was lost.
The vamp lifted her chin. “Get away from my son. Go. I don’t care where.”
Bat-boy, on the other hand, gave Ashe a cocky smile. “Don’t think for a minute you could catch me, anyway.”
Good Goddess. It was the same everywhere. Mothers protected their young. Teenage boys were idiots. “You go. I’m not turning my back on you.”
“Very well.”The vampire pulled at her son’s hand. “Then you don’t move. Not a hair. Not until we’re out of sight.”
Ashe was confused. This was too easy, too reasonable for monsters.
But the youth nervously scanned the halls. “Be kind, little mother. No one can stay here. Not even her. We’re too near Atreus’s halls.”
The dog let out another soul-splitting howl—not the lonely keen of earlier, but something new. An alarm. They all cringed away from the sound, the little vampire covering her ears.
No dog made a sound like that unless it sensed trouble.
“What’s wrong?” Ashe demanded. Her pulse was kicking up even further, primitive instincts telling her to fight or flee right now.
The vampire lifted her head, sniffing the air. “Atreus is near.”
“Atreus?”
“Sylvius is right; beware of him. He’s unpredictable. Quite mad.” The vampire’s eyes had gone wary, just one step away from outright fear. She had one hand on the youth’s arm, as if her touch alone was a shield. “We need to go. All of us. You, too.”
Reflexively, Ashe tightened her fingers around the stake. The look in the female’s eyes dug into her gut. This is a mother and child. Okay, so they’re not human, but they’re afraid of something worse. What kind of creep would frighten a mom and her kid and dog?
Whoever that was, Ashe didn’t like that person one little bit.
“Where does this guy Atreus live?”
Mac rolled out of bed the next morning wondering whether he’d lost his mind. Somewhere in the course of the evening’s conversation, he’d actually agreed to let Lore rent his spare bedroom. He valued his privacy, but he needed cash more.
Heck, he was one-stop shopping: Get your superhero and landlord in one giant package. He’d be in the Castle much of the time, anyway, given his growing to-do list. As long as the Castle was still there.
It turned out the hellhounds knew the place was falling apart, whole chunks at a time simply disappearing. There were warning signs, so for the most part the residents simply moved to another location. Any that didn’t disappeared along with the stones.
Mac filed away one important footnote: The guardsmen’s magical marching orders said that they could only leave the prison for short periods of time. Naturally, they had the most to lose if the place went poof altogether. Lore speculated they’d probably die.
It was a testament to Reynard’s discipline that they weren’t all rioting in panic.
It made Mac grateful to be waking up in a soft, safe bed. It would have been perfect if only Connie were there, too. I wonder if she would want to leave the Castle? It seemed like the obvious choice to him, but he hadn’t lived there for centuries. She might be unaccountably attached to it. Then again, if the Castle kept crumbling, she had no choice.
He stretched, an enormous bone-popping roll of the shoulders.
Coffee. Must have coffee.
He eyed the bedside clock. Ten. Crap. He’d overslept. Opening the
bedroom blinds, he squinted out at the sun. It was another beautiful autumn day. Good to be alive.
The demon was present, flowing through every fiber and bone, but it felt natural. Rather than two adversaries in the same body, it felt simply like the darker side of himself: dangerous, wild, and full of heat.
How dangerous? Demons destroy. It’s their nature.
He sensed his own potential for savagery with every breath, every movement of his new muscles. It was tempting—a corked bottle of the finest vintage, just waiting to be poured out and savored. The demon thirsted for it like a drunk in the gutter.
But I’m staying stone-cold sober.
Bold words, but it wasn’t going to be easy. He had begun by thinking that the clues to regaining his humanity lay in the Castle. That was why he had gone back in the first place, after his conversation with Holly at the U. Ironically, every time he went inside the Castle, he came out a little—or a lot—less human. This last time was no exception. Now his demon was making itself comfortable in its upgraded home.
But he hadn’t exactly lost. He could not have rescued Sylvius without his demonic powers. If he rejected his demon side, he would be turning his back on the Castle residents who needed a protector, such as the hellhounds and their stranded family members. And what about the missing Avatar? What about Connie?
If demons destroyed, how come he was being so darned helpful? Caveman and all, Mac was confused on levels he never knew existed.
He switched on the coffeepot and went to take a shower. It was only after he dressed that he remembered the answering machine. Holly had left all the messages. He phoned her back.
“Oh, Mac, thank the Goddess you called. Were you inside in the Castle?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see Ashe?”
“No.”
“Damn it!”
Mac remembered Ashe’s reaction to the door. With everything else that was going on, he’d forgotten about that. “How’d she break in?”
“She didn’t. Alessandro threw her in there.”
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