Scorched

by Sharon Ashwood

  “Hello, Holly.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks, turning the color of old cottage cheese. She was scared. “Oh, Goddess, what are you doing here?”

  He held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, so I didn’t leave a good impression the last time we met. I’m safe now. I’m on a strict diet of junk food and antacids.”

  Frowning, she shifted her overloaded backpack. It looked like she had half the bookstore in there. “How’d you get out of the Castle?”

  “I walked out. The maid service sucked.” He stretched out one hand, indicating a nearby bench. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  She didn’t budge, but watched his every twitch. “You walked out, huh? How?”

  “Luck and an absence of hellhounds.”

  “Goddess, Alessandro’s going to be pissed.”

  “Can we talk? Anywhere you like.” He kept standing, hands in the air, like a suspect under arrest.

  She looked wary, then interested, and then checked her watch. “Yeah, okay. But this had better be good. And I want to talk someplace where there are lots of people around.”

  Mac wasn’t going to argue. He’d have said the same thing. He lowered his hands slowly. “Coffee?”

  “Okay.” She turned and headed for the Student Union Building, but kept him a few paces away and within clear view. Her distrust bothered him, but it was no more than he deserved.

  There were coffee wagons set up outside, releasing clouds of heavenly scent into the crisp air. Heavy plastic tables and chairs were ranged around them, the garish shades of green and pink almost luminous in the gray light. The outdoor eating area made more sense in the summer, but students seemed to use it all year around. Maybe they needed the cold air to wake up.

  Holly kept marching until she joined the line outside the Zap Baby Espresso Bar. Her quick, graceful movements brought other things to mind, like the way she kissed.

  And the way Connie kissed. Mac gave himself a mental head slap. When did she become Connie instead of Constance? For a moment he was lost, reliving the moment, the silken softness of her mouth, the wild berry taste of her. She didn’t know Jane Austen. What woman doesn’t know Pride and Prejudice? That’s just unnatural. The campus bookstore should have a copy. . . .

  Oh, come on! She tried to bite you, goof. Get a grip. No more Babes of Doom.

  Mac blinked, rejoining the here and now with a guilty jolt. He was daydreaming about a girl like he was in eighth grade. One with fangs and claws. Yup, he was one sick puppy.

  He stood beside Holly. The tension between them felt like solid ice. “How’s classes?”

  She flicked her dark ponytail over her shoulder. “Hard. How’d you find me?”

  “I was a cop, remember? Everyone knows you’re taking a business degree. The rest was simple deduction.”

  “Who’s everyone?”

  “Everyone is everyone. You’re a celebrity in the supernatural community after defeating my evil demon mistress in the smack-down of the decade. You sneeze and every vamp, fey, and werewolf wants to talk about it.”

  “Oh, great.” Holly winced. The gesture emphasized the dark circles under her eyes. With her softly pointed features and the oversized sweater that hung almost to her knees—probably Caravelli’s—she looked like a sleepy child. “So you listen to celebrity gossip, eh?”

  He pointed to the Student Union Building. The CSUP call letters were mounted over a small door to the right, along with a large poster of the Gothed-up werecougar announcer, Errata.

  “There’s the radio station. They chatter on-air like it’s the amateur stalker hour. And, you know, there are some bottom-dwellers in some of the motel bars who’ll talk to demon trash like me. If I buy them drinks, that is.”

  Holly gave a lopsided smile, showing she was entertained despite herself. “So what do they say?”

  “No one can figure out why you’re bothering with school. You’ve got major magic.”

  That earned him an eye roll. “I was running my ghostbusting agency into the ground. I didn’t know how to balance the books, or market effectively, and forget anything to do with payroll. Being a witch didn’t make me a businesswoman. Get real. I beat Geneva. So what? It’s not like I won the lottery and can retire. Life goes on.”

  By then they were at the front of the line. Mac ordered a plain medium coffee, Holly a latte. They took their cups to a bright green table at the edge of the eating area. A scattering of crumbs on the pavement had attracted a flock of sparrows, and Mac had to walk carefully. They wanted the food more than they feared his feet.

  Holly dumped her backpack and sat down. “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “The demon thing,” he started, but then stalled. It was going to be hard to put everything into words.

  “What about it?”

  He caught his breath and plunged in. “After you zapped me, I’ve been eating like a human.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “I got out of the Castle about six months ago.”

  Her brow furrowed in surprise. “You’ve been back here all that time?”

  “No.” Mac smiled briefly. “I took a detour.”

  The corner of Holly’s mouth turned up. “Is there a punch line to that?”

  “Well, I got out of the Castle the first time by sheer accident. There were these New Agers in Sedona trying to summon an angel. They thought they were making a portal into the hereafter. They got me instead, poor bastards.”

  Holly gave a startled whoop of laughter.

  Mac chuckled. “Anyway, to give them their due, these folks were terrific. I was a wreck, after everything that happened, everything I’d done. They let me stay with them out in the desert—and I mean literally just sit and look at the earth and sky—for as long as it took to put myself back together.”

  “So their angel had guardian angels of his own.”

  “Yeah, though I never did bond with the whole vegan idea. If that’s heavenly food, I’m not pure enough yet to appreciate it. Anyway, I came back here about a month ago. I’ve been laying low, just picking up the pieces.” He paused. “Quite a few of them are broken beyond repair.”

  Holly looked down at her hot pink travel mug, picking at the rubber grip. “You got a raw deal, Mac.”

  “Yeah, and it’s going south on me again.”

  She looked up. “Alessandro said. The demon’s still in you.”

  Damn Caravelli. “I have to stop it. I seem to be getting some of those demon-type powers back. And it’s odd. It feels different this time.”

  One of the sparrows hopped onto the table, but Holly ignored it. She was staring at Mac. “How do you mean, different?”

  “Not too bad. Not painful. Kind of hyped. It started up when I was in the Castle again.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me exactly what happened last night.”

  He did. There was no point in leaving anything out. He had no idea which details might be important.

  As he talked, the clouds started to thin, allowing a wash of weak sunlight to dapple the trees and buildings. More busloads of students arrived, and the crowds began to increase. The coffee area was getting noisy.

  When he finished, Holly set her coffee mug down, a faint smile in her large green eyes. “So do you know anything more about this vampiress?”

  Holly’s too-interested expression made him sit very still, just so he didn’t squirm. “No. Not a thing.” Only that thinking about her makes me crazy.

  “Your ears are turning red. She was pretty, I take it?”

  His reply shot out more gruffly than he intended. “Yeah, well, I think I might have just been the meal ticket without the ticket part. She damn near ripped out my throat. Okay, an exaggeration, but I’m just saying . . .”

  “She roused strong emotions, which led to exercising your demon powers in a major way.”

  Mac nodded, unable to meet her eyes. They had reached the heart of the matter. “I always knew there were traces of the demon left in me. I�
��ve been a bit stronger, a bit faster all along, but I’d been controlling myself just fine for six months. Then suddenly I could dematerialize. What happened?”

  Holly sat back, clearly pondering what he’d said. “The Castle is supposed to neuter magical creatures, not create them.”

  “Can we use a different word than ‘neuter’?”

  “All right. The Castle’s magic mutes things. Desires. Special abilities.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the weird part. Why did it jump-start this latest episode?” If the Castle was supposed to stop appetites—including lust—then why did Constance put his inner caveman on red alert?

  Holly wasn’t listening, but sat tapping her thumbnail against her bottom teeth. “And yet, I found a room in there once—a beautiful, amazing place. It was like a bedchamber, but much larger, with a waterfall and fireplace and tapestries.”

  She looked up, flushing. “Neither magic nor desires were dampened in there. The Castle isn’t consistent. It was built by magic, like my house. It may have enough sentience to create what it needs.”

  He sat back, his mood clenching like a fist. “Then it’s too bad I can’t walk up and ask who ordered the fully functional demon.”

  “What did you have for breakfast?” she asked abruptly.

  Mac blinked. “Cereal.”

  “Was it good?”

  “Uh—yeah, I guess so.”

  Holly spread her hands. “You’re not a fully functioning demon. If you were, you’d be eating everything in sight on the way to chowing down on somebody’s soul. I remember how you were. You were obsessed with eating. It was incredibly scary.”

  “So? I’m still hungry. The desire to drink life never went away.” He tugged at his cuffs, embarrassment making him irritable. He was getting hot. His coat felt tight in the arms. Damned dry cleaners.

  “But you don’t have to.”

  “No, thank God.”

  “So this time is different. I don’t know why.”

  “Then how can I fix it?”

  “I didn’t say I was giving up. You deserve a chance.”

  Not a ringing endorsement, but he’d take it. “You really think it’s something to do with the Castle?”

  “If you were holding steady for six months, it’s the only new variable in the equation.”

  Mac waved a hand. “Great. The cause of my latest medical crisis is an alternate dimension.”

  Holly grimaced. “Try being in charge of the entrance to the damned thing.”

  Mac nearly spilled his coffee. “You’re in charge of the portal?” As he said that, he realized it kind of made sense. She’d made it. She was the only one with enough power to do anything with it. “So then why are the hellhounds always hanging around?”

  “I’m supposed to be the guardian, but I’m in school. I can’t watch it twenty-four/seven.”

  “So you hired them?”

  “They were big and tough and unemployed. Alessandro hired them to help him do his law and order thing.”

  “I’d get his money back. They’re useless.” Up until the part where they kicked my ass and threw me inside.

  Holly sighed. “Yeah, well, the X-Men were busy. The hounds are what we have.”

  “Uh-huh.” Mac noticed again how tired she looked. “Do you want another coffee?”

  “No, I’ve hardly made a dent in this one.”

  “Something to eat?’

  “Ugh. No.” She made a face.

  “Not a breakfast person?”

  “Definitely not. And I’ve got to get to class.” She touched his arm lightly. “Are you at the same phone number?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll see what I can find out and call you. Um, probably best if . . .”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t call your house. Caravelli would freak if he knew we’d talked. That would be fun for me, but probably not so much for you.”

  Holly looked chagrined. “Sorry. And it’s not just him. It’s my sister. She’s staying in town and she’s, er, not like me.”

  “Not a witch?”

  “Vampire hunter on a mission to save me from myself.”

  “That’s gotta be awkward.” He chuckled. He couldn’t help it.

  She made a face. “Maybe I’ll sell ringside seats.” With that, she rose and picked up her backpack, hefting it onto her shoulders. It looked so heavy, he thought if she fell on her back she’d be stuck there, like a turtle.

  Mac grinned at the mental image. “Sure I can’t carry your books to class?”

  “No thanks. This saves me going to the gym. Gotta run.” She grabbed her coffee mug and paused long enough to plant a kiss on Mac’s cheek. “Hang in there. I’ll be in touch.”

  She took a few steps, then looked back, the pale, clear sunlight highlighting the delicate structure of her face. “Stay out of the Castle, eh? No exploring until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Right,” Mac said. “Absolutely not.”

  Chapter 10

  October 2, 2:00 p.m.

  101.5 FM

  “Greetings, Earthlings. It’s Oscar in the Afternoon, your program about where to go, what you need, and where the savvy supernatural shopper will buy it. I’m your host, Oscar Ottwell of the Silvertail Wolf Pack.

  “First, we have Dr. Ruby Yaga here to give us the lowdown on safe sex and all that means for us supernatural types—plus, what products are on the market to make those moonlit nights a little less scary.

  “We’ll get started with a word from our sponsor, the Wily Wolf Delicatessen.”

  Mac seeped through the Castle door, pausing to spiral into a column before assuming his human shape. He had his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, so he didn’t notice Constance until a moment later when he looked around to get his bearings.

  Constance gave him a gimlet stare. “How did you do that, demon?”

  “I went poof,” he said, but wasn’t really thinking about his answer. He was staring at her, trying to decide whether he was delighted to see her or disconcerted by what he saw.

  She was sitting slumped against the wall opposite the door, her knees drawn up under her chin. He didn’t need sensitive-guy training to see she’d been crying. She was a mess, her eyes red-rimmed and her hair mussed where she’d jammed her fingers through it.

  Oh, crap. He could already feel the horns of a dilemma poking him in the backside. Beautiful, crying woman. Homicidal maniac who’d tried to bite him. Comfort or run like hell? His inner caveman was confused.

  “Bitten anybody yet?” he asked.

  She gave him a baleful glare. “It’s not a joking matter.”

  “Um. No, I’d say not.”

  She crammed her fingers back into her hair. “Oh, off with you. What would a demon know about it?”

  “Off with you,” he mimicked, pinning the accent perfectly. “My gran used to say that. I’m too old to shoo away now.”

  “Well, I’m bloody old enough to be your gran’s gran’s gran. And a bloody lot of good all those years have done me. Just call me the bloody vampire queen.”

  Mac raised his eyebrows. That was a lot of bloody, even for a vamp. “I dunno. I met the queen once. She was a couple of millennia of bad-assed scary. I think you and I are still in the minor leagues.”

  “What league?” she asked crossly.

  Apparently there was no baseball in hell. Figured.

  She looked up, loops of hair standing on end where she’d been kneading her scalp. There were fresh tears on her cheeks. Clear, like a human’s. Vampire tears were pink. She hadn’t tasted blood yet. He’d never seen her eyes flash gold or silver the way a vampire’s usually did, either. She was stuck in between two species. They were two of a kind.

  Mac walked over to the wall where she was sitting. Despite her fangy performance the day before, he wasn’t too worried. His gun was loaded with silver ammo, plus he had three stakes, two knives, his demon talents, and a werepartridge in a pear tree. Besides, he wanted to be close to her. Her presence
gave him the same warm, smooth buzz as a good single malt. Careful—you think she’s way too cute.

  And he had a copy of Pride and Prejudice in his pocket. Now he just had to make up his mind to give it to her. Not the move of a clinical, detached cop. It was straight from his eighth-grade-crush self, the uncool kid who loved his mom and wrote thank-you notes after Christmas.

  But the little vampire was so clearly unhappy, she obviously needed cheering up. “You look like you’ve been sitting here a while.”

  “I’ve come and gone.” She looked sullen. “Does it matter?”

  “Something about a dusty piece of hallway keep bringing you back?”

  She didn’t answer, but kept fiddling with a gold coin, turning it over and over, rubbing at the design. She saw him look at it, then dropped it down her front with a defiant glare.

  He looked at her for a long time, considering that softly rounded hiding place. “Let’s keep this simple,” he finally said.

  “Keep what simple? Who says I even want to talk to you?”

  Her tone was hostile, with a go-away-I’m-feeling-sorryfor-myself chill. Mac’s fingers hovered near the holster of his weapon, relaxed but ready just in case she was really serious about the go-away part. One never could tell with vampires. So here I sit, gun in one hand, Mr. Darcy in my coat pocket. Romantic conflict, anyone?

  He could smell that old-fashioned perfume. It beckoned, soft and sweet. Dangerous. “You seem like a nice girl. Something’s obviously bothering you. Maybe I can help.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Mac paused for a moment, pondering that. He didn’t feel like explaining the whole cop-but-not story. Who knew if they even had police where she came from? “It’s what I do. I interfere in people’s lives for their own good.”

  Constance furrowed her brow. “Aren’t you a demon?”

  He shrugged. “Half. I’ve been this way for a while.”

  “Impossible. Either you’re a demon or you’re not. There’s no two ways about it.”

  “Women frequently tell me I’m impossible.” He slid down the wall until he was sitting next to her. He was still a head taller. “But I’m human enough to care about somebody in trouble.”