Hashimoto leaned over Bannerman, his face inches from Ashe’s. “What kind of places did the demon want?”
Bannerman’s eyes flicked from face to face, fear rolling off him like a fog. “A place for its collections.”
Ashe fell back a step, jolted by his words. “Collections?”
Hashimoto looked up. “That mean something to you?”
“Yeah.” The lawyer’s demon, Holly’s client, and the thief who took Reynard’s urn were all the same creature. Reynard was right. Everything was connected, but they were only starting to see the big picture.
Another thought lit up like a neon sign: Hadn’t Holly said collector demons were hoarders? That would explain the congested mess the bookshop had been in.
She fell back another step. But if the demon has more than one property, where’s the urn?
Sound burst from the front office, including the shrill complaint of the receptionist. The door slammed open, Reynard’s shoulders filling the doorway. “Mr. Bannerman’s associates have questions. I thought you would prefer that I didn’t actually maim them.”
The moment Ashe looked away from Bannerman, he launched himself from the chair, knocking Hashimoto aside. He wasn’t a fighter, but he was heavy. Distracted, Ashe didn’t see the tackle until he grabbed her. She dropped the stake to avoid driving it into his gut. After all, she hadn’t really meant to kill him.
But he bowled her over until her head smacked on the edge of the desk. She went down, ears ringing. Then, for a split second, everything went black.
Damn!
Bannerman’s weight shifted away and she heard Reynard ordering people around. He had that tone that made people pay attention. After a struggle, Ashe blinked her eyes open, feeling queasy. Bannerman’s voice drifted from the front office, full of anger, but she couldn’t focus on the words.
She sat up carefully. She wondered how much time had passed, because now she was alone in the office except for Hashimoto. He held out a paper cup, the type that came from a watercooler. His dark eyes looked worried. “Drink this.”
What does hitting your head have to do with being thirsty? She drank the water anyway and gave him back the cup. Gripping the edge of the desk, she got to her feet.
Reynard came back in and closed the office door to shut out the noise. He put a hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Thanks for dealing with the natives.”
He looked satisfied with himself, and the smile he gave her was pure deviltry. “The senior partner assures me there will be no legal action against you for assaulting their colleague. Bannerman’s poor judgment in clientele is enough of an embarrassment to the firm for them to keep this altercation quiet.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard so far today.” She took his hand, squeezing it and wishing they were alone so she could kiss him. “Guess I need a new lawyer, though.”
“Not necessarily,” said Hashimoto. “Custody settlements can be mediated.”
Ashe squinted at him. For a moment she’d forgotten he was there. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “If both parties agree, a mediator can help them come to an arrangement without going to court. It takes conflict off the table and focuses on a plan everyone can live with.”
Ashe opened her mouth to speak, but Hashimoto held up a hand. “I know this isn’t the time to talk, but let me say this much. The de Larrochas don’t like your lifestyle, but they’re more upset about not getting to see their granddaughter because she’s not in Spain anymore. If you cut them a deal on visitation, I think they’d back off on the unfit-mother routine.”
A ping of surprise made her frown. “I never said they couldn’t see Eden. I just want her living with me.”
Hashimoto handed Ashe his card. “I can’t see how an adversarial court case is going to help either of you. As for you, Ms. Carver, you’ve got too many strikes against you as far as a traditional judge is concerned.”
Ain’t that the truth. I nearly staked my attorney.
He bobbed the card in the air, urging her to take it. “Call me if you want to talk about alternatives. Mediation isn’t necessarily a walk in the park, but it’s your best option.”
Ashe took it. “Aren’t you doing yourself out of a job?”
“I’ve mediated for clients before, and I’d rather have a reputation as a problem solver than a shark. Plus, I’ve wanted to kick Bannerman’s ass for years.” He gave a toothy smile that made him look a lot less sophisticated. “I’d have paid to see that.”
Ashe put his number in her pocket. “Thanks.”
“Nah,” he said, packing up his slim attaché case, “the pleasure was entirely mine.”
Hashimoto gave a casual salute and left the office.
Chapter 14
Ashe pulled into her driveway. The house looked quiet, as if all the neighbors were out. By the front fence, tulips shivered in the fitful wind, their pinks and yellows almost painfully bright in the gloom. As they got out of the SUV, Ashe pondered Reynard’s quest. Or really, their quest. Everything led back to the collector demon. At least she didn’t have to feel guilty anymore about taking Reynard away from his mission. Their enemies were the same.
Reynard stood contemplating the flowers as if he hadn’t seen anything blooming for centuries. Maybe he hadn’t. With his hair loose and damp, she could see a chestnut tinge in the waves. It softened his face, except for the eyes kept secret behind sunglasses, even though it had started to drizzle.
“What now?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back.
She kept her voice businesslike, as if she didn’t want to bury her fingers in that hair. “We need to strategize, but first I have to clean up.”
“I should do the same.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“My clean clothes are in the Castle.”
The statement was simple, but nuances lingered underneath his clipped tone, taking her back to the gym that morning. To the memory of his crushing her between his body and the mirror. She shivered, disappointed and relieved that she wouldn’t be trying to shower and change with him there. Her brain could sure do Technicolor when it needed to. Hot running water, soap suds, and Reynard was a combination akin to a tsunami. It would wipe everything else off the map.
But oh, my Goddess, talk about temptation.
“Come find me when you’re done. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” She turned and walked away, leaving him standing beside the flower bed.
If she didn’t, she was going to jump him right there.
Saturday, April 4, 6:30 p.m.
101.5 FM
“This is a CSUP news bulletin.
“There is a fire in the twelve hundred block of Fort Street. Traffic near the Fort and Main intersection has been blocked off by police. Motorists are asked to take alternate routes through the downtown.
“The Book Burrow, formerly known as Cowan’s Books, is engulfed in flames. Fire crews are concentrating on containment. Neighboring businesses are in no immediate danger, but that could change at any time. Due to the extreme nature of the blaze, which seems to have begun in the attic, firefighters have not been able to enter the building or search for survivors. However, arson is suspected.
“Cowan’s Books, a Fairview institution, had been in that location since 1965. It was recently sold to new owners after the death of the previous owner, William Cowan.
“We will provide updates as more information becomes available.”
Ashe switched off the radio, a rock in her stomach. Spilled oil. Candle. Attic. She finished toweling off from the shower, put on a robe, and then phoned Holly. More and more, she was calling her sister when she needed to talk something out.
“How’s Eden?”
“Enjoying spaghetti, meatballs, and television.”
“No wonder she loves going to your place. Thanks again for looking after her. I know you’re swamped.”
“Not a problem. She’s actually not a bad little baby-sitter.”
Ashe felt an almost irrational pride in her daughter. Way to go, Eden. Then her mind flipped into business mode. “Hey, you hear about the fire?”
“Yeah.”
Ashe hunched, feeling the loss of her childhood bookstore like a physical pain. “I think I might have started it. I spilled the extra oil you sent. I left the candle burning when I had to run.”
“I don’t know if that’s enough to make a blaze that hot.” Holly sounded doubtful. “There was a lot of magic going on. That can change things. Plus, that place is stuffed with old paper.”
“Oh, Hol, all those old books. I loved that place.”
“At least we’re sure that poor little-girl ghost is freed.”
“What if the urn was in there?”
“Did Reynard say anything about feeling it?”
“No.”
“Then probably not.”
Ashe was silent for a moment. “I burned down Mr. Cowan’s bookstore.”
Holly’s voice dropped to her special talking-Asheoff-the-ledge tone. “You don’t know that. The demon might have done something. If he tried to shut down the spell, that might have made something go wrong. Don’t jump to conclusions. You went there to cleanse the store. Maybe this is how it had to happen.”
Ashe was silent. If only demons burned as easily as vampires, but the Tony demon would still be out there, and now it would be pissed.
Before Ashe could dwell on that horrific idea, Holly brought up something else. “Alessandro’s going to meet Lore down there as soon as it’s full dark. Lore’s hounds were guarding the place when it went up, but from the sound of it, they didn’t see anything. Sandro’s going to check the place over for himself.”
Ashe looked out the window at the fading light. “Alessandro’s leaving you and the kids on your own?”
“I’m not helpless, Ashe. Plus we’ve got more hellhounds digging up the flower beds outside.”
Ashe smiled at her sister’s disgusted tone. “You don’t mind keeping the kiddo a bit longer?”
“Let her stay overnight. It’s safe here. No vampires. No demons. You should come stay, too.”
“Thanks, Hol, but I’ve got to meet with Reynard. Did your esteemed vamp- in-residence find out anything about the visiting fangsters?”
“He’s got the locals out looking, but so far no joy.”
“Damn.”
“It won’t take long to find out where they’re staying. Vamps are territorial, so the natives are motivated. So, what’s with you and Reynard?”
“There’s nothing to tell.” Ashe could tell she sounded grumpy.
“Yeah, right. You like each other.”
“Sure we do. That’s it. There’s way too much going on to complicate things.”
“Too bad. I mean, the guy’ll probably get out of the Castle only this once. Someone should show him a good time.”
Ashe laughed, but it sounded forced. “He’s got no soul. I’m so over men like that.”
“Well, we’re only talking a couple of nights here at most.”
“He deserves more than a pity fuck. And don’t talk about him like that.” Ashe bit off the next thing she was going to say, bewildered by her sharp response. “Sorry. His situation’s gotten to me.”
“Sure, yeah. And I shouldn’t be joking like that, anyway. But y’know, Grandma said he was great with Eden.”
“He was pure gold.”
Holly was silent for a moment, as if not sure where to take that thread of conversation. Then she jumped tracks altogether. “How’d the meeting with the lawyer go?”
Ashe filled her in on everything that had happened that afternoon. “He’s so fired.”
“Shouldn’t he be arrested?” Holly asked. “He’s doing business deals with a demon, and not a nice one like Mac!”
“I’m pretty sure his office partners are building a big legal fortress around him as we speak. But I’ve got a better idea. I’m going to tail him. Wherever Tony goes next, now that his bookstore is gone, Bannerman is sure to be at his beck and call. We’ll find him that way.”
“There’s a spell—”
Ashe heard Robin’s cry in the background.
“You need to go,” Ashe said. “That sounded hungry.”
“Yeah, catch you later.” Holly hung up.
Ashe disconnected, setting the phone back in its cradle. She wished Holly had left Reynard out of the conversation. There were a handful of people she’d do anything for: Eden, Grandma, Holly, a few of her hunter friends, and, on a good day, Alessandro. Reynard’s name was starting to creep onto that list, fading into view like invisible ink slowly revealed by the heat of a flame.
Reynard needed far more from her than a booty call. He needed someone willing to fight for him, to break the chains that bound him in darkness.
And when she was done fighting? That happy-ever-after thing always slipped through her grasp. She wasn’t Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella. She was one of the knights, slapping the prince on the back and buying him a round after they ganked the dragon.
Awkward.
An interval of quiet followed, but it was short-lived. Ashe had barely pulled on fresh jeans and a tank top and started to make herself a sandwich when the burned-toast smell of a portal came drifting from the living room.
“Hello?” she called, holding the butter knife in one hand. She set it down and shoved open the window to clear the air before the fire alarm went off.
Reynard sauntered into the kitchen, clean, tidy, and looking around with a speculative air. He set the sunglasses on the pale yellow counter. Ashe looked at them, then at him.
“You can see okay?”
“I’m getting used to the light.” He looked around, still squinting a little. “You have a comfortable home.”
Ashe buttered bread. “It’s small, but it’s all right.”
“Where is Eden?”
“Still at Holly’s. She’s safest there, protected by the magic of the house. Caravelli should be up soon. And the hounds are still camped out in the yard, making like super-ugly garden gnomes. I phoned to check in.”
“Garden gnomes? I thought they lived farther south.”
Ashe put the lid back on the butter dish. “Imports.” He watched her open the fridge and bring out containers of leftover chicken, mayo, and salad. He pulled up one of the café stools and sat on it as she worked. It was all weirdly domestic, and it made her twitchy.
“So tell me something about yourself I don’t know,” she said.
“Such as?”
“We’re usually trying to kill something when we’re together. Or on the move. I’m not sure what to expect now that we’re just sitting in a kitchen.”
He gave a slight smile. “Once upon a time I was considered a skillful conversationalist. I used to have more talents than fighting.”
Ashe pulled the lid off the salad container and started searching for bits of lettuce that still looked more green than brown. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“I was an excellent sportsman. I rode almost before I could walk. I have a keen interest in astronomy and navigation. Handy when you’ve traveled as much as I did.”
He leaned against the counter, the posture casual but the muscles in his body still coiled. A man doing an imitation of somebody relaxing. “It was part of a young man’s education to tour Europe. Then, when I took up my career with the military, I went to India with the Royal Regiments.”
“That must have been a culture shock.”
He tilted his head, his look far away. “It was an experience. Many of the officers weren’t interested in anything outside their own gentlemanly circle, but I wanted to learn whatever I could. The language. The life in the villages. How the common soldiers lived. That’s where I got the Brown Bess you so adore.”
Ashe returned his smirk. “That wasn’t your usual weapon?”
“Not exactly.” He warmed to the subject a little. “Officers didn’t do the actual shooting in battle, but I liked knowing how to use it. By und
erstanding the arms, I had a better idea of what the men who used them were faced with.”
Ashe thought about that for a moment, and the sound of his voice. She had always become lost in the refined English accent, but she could hear the nuances of emotion now. Rough sadness, layers of irony, respect for the men under him. He wasn’t a stranger anymore. She liked that.
“How long were you there?”
“Four years. Then I was wounded and sent back to England to recover.”
“And then?”
Reynard looked down at the countertop. “My next trip led me to the Castle. There was no more traveling after that.”
Ashe waited for more, closing up the chicken sandwich and cutting it in two. She wanted details about the guardsmen and about how he ended up in an interdimensional prison. No more words came, however.
Would pushing be a mistake? The wrong question at the wrong time might make him clam up, and she was tired of that closed-off look of his. It was like talking to the cardboard Legolas the bookstore guys had left outside the library. She wasn’t going to risk losing the rapport they had going.
The downstairs neighbor pulled up in front of the house, slamming the car door. Ashe closed the window, starting to feel cold.
“Well,” she said quietly, sitting on the other café stool. “What do we do next?” She bit into the sandwich, all the salt, pepper, and mayo doing a happy dance on her tongue. She was so hungry, it hurt.
Reynard picked up a stray twist tie, looking at it with furrowed concentration. He had apparently lost none of his taste for discovering new cultures. “The urn wasn’t in the bookshop. I would have felt it if it were.”
He said it casually, but she heard uneasiness buried under the sangfroid.
“Then we have to find the demon’s other hangouts,” she said after swallowing. “The bookstore burned down, anyway.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Pardon?”
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