Unchained tdf-3

by Sharon Ashwood

  Still, it was a lockup. A grate of iron bars striped the white stone. The door was made of iron bars. Magic would not work in a room lined with cold iron. He saw no one but the occasional guard with his jingling ring of keys. There was absolutely nothing to do.

  Boredom was an ingenious form of torture. He’d begun to listen for the guards’ footsteps as a means of passing the time. Miru-kai lay on the mattress, his hands folded across his stomach, and tried to relax. He was used to the bustle of his encampment. It was literally too quiet to sleep. All part of the complimentary torture service.

  Miru-kai opened his eyes and stared at the stone ceiling. He could count the blocks of stone, but he had to save some excitement for later. He slipped off the bed and stood at the barred door, careful not to touch the irritating iron. He could see out, but there was nothing there but corridors of stone, the same view as anywhere in the Castle.

  I shouldn’t be here. None of the fey should be here. Fairykind knew how to repair the earth the humans plundered, but the humans knew how to make the earth yield crops. Once, the two species had worked side by side—or so Miru-kai had been told. That was before his time, before the bulk of his people had retreated to the Summerland, closing the gates behind them and leaving their brethren to struggle on alone.

  I could have been dancing in dew circles if my venerated parents had gotten off their royal backsides and left with the rest. Instead, he was stuck here, dealing with the dregs of the Castle.

  Footfalls echoed in the corridor. Miru- kai drew nearer the bars. The heavy silk of his clothing rustled as he moved, reminding him he was a prince and not just a prisoner.

  His visitor was Mac, his large form backlit by the flickering torches.

  Once he saw who it was, Miru-kai backed away, not wishing to look too eager to talk. Still, he couldn’t resist some of those Law & Order phrases. “Now that you’ve let me—what is the expression?—stew in my own juices, have you come to tune me up?”

  “Maybe I just want to gloat a little bit.” Mac stopped outside the bars, folding his arms. He didn’t come too close, either. “Mostly, I’ve got questions.”

  Miru-kai crossed his own arms, mirroring his jailer’s posture. “I have one or two of my own. To begin with, I wonder why I thought a civil conversation about freedom was even possible.”

  “It was and always will be possible. Whether I agree to it depends entirely on your track record. You came to my office thinking you could charm your way out. I’m not that easily conned.”

  “My word of honor counts for nothing?”

  “I’d rather have a month’s worth of incident reports without your name all over them.”

  “The fey are misunderstood. We don’t respond well to petty rules.”

  “Uh-huh. And what happens when you get outside the Castle and start buying cars? Rush hour in Fairyland must be really interesting. Road rage with goblins.”

  “You mock me.”

  “You bet, but there’s a point to it. If you played well with others, I’d hold the door open myself.”

  Miru-kai said nothing, annoyed by the demon’s confident air. He was a prince. A little groveling and trembling would have gone down well about now.

  Mac gave him a sharp look. “Exactly how much did you have to do with the break-in at the guardsmen’s vault?”

  Walking to the bed, Miru-kai sat down. The cell was small enough that it made no difference to the conversation, except now he was comfortable. Princes sat. Lackeys stood.

  Mac’s expression didn’t change.

  Miru-kai considered his options and chose a strategy. “In all honesty, I simply played the role of opportunist. Perhaps bodies do not easily break free of the Castle’s chains, but news travels by sorcery, by whispers, by means even I cannot fathom.”

  “Like the bulletin board at www.SeeSparkyRun. com?”

  “I may be an old soul, but I can surf the Web,” the prince replied, putting one hand to his chest. “Though I concede calling a fire demon of your stature ‘Sparky’ is a touch disrespectful. Some of the fey can be insolent wags.”

  “Which is why only this part of the Castle gets wireless anymore.”

  Damn it all! For the first time in hundreds of years, the prince had found a reliable link to the outside world, and now it was extinguished. Miru-kai swore silently, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  “If you want out of this cell, you’re going to have to give something up,” Mac said sternly.

  “I have professional standards. Confidentiality to maintain.”

  “Since when have you done anything but protect your own interests?”

  “You wound me.”

  “No, but I can. A good friend of mine is counting on me to figure this out.”

  Mac’s expression packed its bags and went to the dark side.

  Miru-kai sighed. It was better to offer up information while it still had value. The whole sorry affair was going to come out soon, anyway. “I heard of an individual who wished to steal a guardsman’s urn. How he found out that they even existed is quite beyond me, but no matter. He required a thief who could, with the proper instruction, circumvent all the wards upon the door of the vault. I gave a referral.”

  “And collected a finder’s fee?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m guessing you let the demon through the forest gate?”

  Miru-kai nodded. “Yes. There. I confess. Let me out. I found my client a certain kind of demon who is expert at acquiring valuable objects. He is your thief.”

  Instead, Mac’s brows drew together. “A collector demon?”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew he was a collector demon, and would never, ever give up whatever he took.” He made it a statement, not a question.

  “His species is extremely rare. I deserved a bonus for being able to locate such a prodigy. Even if I was hired for my quick wits and extensive knowledge of the Castle and its inhabitants and, yes, my extensive information network, this . . . this was a coup.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Mac impatiently. “And then?”

  “It is not my fault that my client wasn’t specific about the character of the thief. He simply wanted one who could procure what he wanted. I did what I was asked. The fey always keep their bargains.” Miru- kai gave a toothy smile. “Though we tend to give what our client deserves. He was a trifle pushy. Vampires, you know.”

  Mac was unamused. “Your client was Belenos, King of the East?”

  “How well-informed you are.”

  “I’d heard he was hanging around Fairview. I’m not the only one working on this case. Where is Belenos?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Positive.”

  “How did you get paid?”

  “In goods. As for the demon,” Miru-kai went on, breezing past the question, “it is my understanding that the first thing he did upon double-crossing his employer and running away with the urn was to find a successful lawyer and bind him into service. So much for the good old days, when an army of rotting corpses was the best line of defense. These modern days lack a certain sense of theater.”

  Mac pondered that. “You let the demon thief out of the forest. How did he get out of the Castle?”

  “Two weeks ago, Lord Belenos secured one of the nine keys to the Castle at a very, very, very private auction. While it’s not as powerful as your master key, with a lot of extra sorcery he managed to get the demon past the portal barriers. That was no mean feat of magic. And the key has allowed Belenos to come and go from here ever since.”

  Mac’s face froze; then his voice emerged thunderous. “What?”

  Miru-kai licked his lips, savoring the moment. “That’s probably why your allies on the outside can’t find him. King Belenos has been sleeping here, right under your guardsmen’s noses.”

  Ashe woke to find herself sitting on a headstone. Startled, she jumped down, her mule-slippered feet landing on the cold, crumbly lo
am of the grave. Claw-sharp pine needles poked at her heels.

  Where the hell am I? The graveyard looked familiar, with the ocean sighing against the rocks to the south. Where’s Reynard?

  But she was alone. Overhead, the moon dodged a lacework of clouds. Not enough light to really see, but it looked like Saint Andrew’s Cemetery. Big trees, old graves, the smell of cold sea air. She hadn’t been there for a while, but she’d walked through it often enough as a kid.

  I’m dreaming again. That thought made her relax a notch. She’d neglected to set Grandma’s charms in place. Well, she’d been a little distracted.

  She stepped off the grave, leaving a slipper behind. Cold, damp loam touched her bare sole, giving her instant goose bumps. She stuck her slipper back on her foot, then emptied the other of crumbly dirt. One crappy detail was that the night was freezing cold and she was wearing nothing but an oversize Ghostbusters T-shirt. Better than the nothing she was wearing curled up beside Reynard, but why couldn’t she have dreamed herself in a nice, warm coat?

  But part of her knew it wasn’t quite a dream. A frisson of dread crawled over her flesh like a horror cliché lurching from the grave.

  Ashe whirled around, trying to see in every direction at once. It was too dark, the moon in and out of the clouds just enough to see shapes a few feet away. The clumps of cedar trees were no more than patches of rustling blackness. She could just make out the name on the tombstone where she’d been sitting: Marian Carver.

  Mom. Ashe’s hand went to her mouth, a weak gesture she hated.

  She’d been sitting on her mother’s grave. The mother she’d killed with her stupidity. Her sense of balance seemed to melt, leaving her weak-legged and sweating despite the cold. If this was some sort of trip through the basement of her subconscious, it was doing a good job of freaking her out. Maybe it was punishment because she had actually been happy for a moment.

  She pushed her hair out of her face and took a long breath, forcing herself to stand straight. Get a grip. Figure this out.

  Now she knew exactly where she was. Memory filled in the details the wavering light glossed over. They were close to the cliff edge that looked over the water, in a triangle where two walkways crossed. There was a pair of white headstones flanked by yew and rowan trees. Her dad was in the next grave over, her grandfather about fifty feet to the west.

  Why am I here, of all places? The answer had better come soon. She was starting to shiver and she was way past pissed off.

  A cold hand fell on her shoulder. Ashe spun, leading with her elbow to deliver a blow, but stumbled against—nothing. No one was there.

  Oh, crap. She really wasn’t up to ghosts. They’re always whining about something. Like, get dead already. Ashe let her temper heat, doing her best to counter a growing sense of vulnerability.

  “Ms. Carver,” said a voice behind her. Or were those low, velvety words all in her head?

  Obviously, whoever or whatever this was couldn’t be smacked down like a common mugger. Ashe turned, this time moving at a normal speed. And there was nothing common about the figure standing there. Inwardly, Ashe gulped. Holy Hecate!

  He was far too close, forcing her to look up. The speaker was at least six-five and built with a fighter’s physique—hard, broad, and lean—but the poor light gave away nothing of his features. Ashe opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words. It was like coming nose-to-nose with a timber wolf. There was nothing adequate to say, even if it was—almost—just a dream.

  Electricity skimmed her skin in a subtle, deadly tease. One of the few scraps of magic left to her was at work, identifying and reporting what she’d already guessed. Vampire.

  A very, very powerful bloodsucker to boot. She had no weapons. Beating him off with a slipper wasn’t going to work. Her mouth went dry with apprehension. If she were awake, she’d be fighting by now, or at least running. Instead, she felt stupefied.

  “You brought me here,” she managed to say.

  “Of course I did.” Vampires could enter a person’s dreams, but it wasn’t a beginner’s trick. Only the most powerful could pull it off.

  He raised a hand, and a gauzy white light bloomed from his cupped palm as if he were cradling an infant star. Ashe’s breath caught in her chest, tangled in terrified wonder. Many vampires used sorcery, but she’d never seen a move that smooth.

  Her eyes went from his hand to his face. Most vamps had eyes with a gold or silver cast. His glinted topaz, if topaz could melt and burn with the intensity of an alchemist’s forge. His face was more masculine than pretty, the strong, straight features softened only by the fact that he had been Turned young.

  The vampire’s hair was russet, the red of a fox’s pelt. It fell thick and straight to his waist, woven through with bits of gold and beads. He wore other gold, too—heavy cuffs and a twisted torque that sat on his collarbone, both decorated with red stones that glinted in the weird light. Only his clothes—just a dark shirt and slacks—were everyday.

  “What do you want?” Ashe asked, pleased that the words came out sounding normal. “Not to sound rude, but the whole nightie/vampire/graveyard-at-midnight thing is best when it’s kept brief. Especially since I was, y’know, busy.”

  “This seemed the safest way of speaking to you. You and your guardsman friend destroyed my emissary Frederick Lloyd.” He blew on the light he held, and it floated to the ground, still glowing like pale, fey campfire.

  “You’re Belenos, King of the East.”

  “Correct.”

  “And all this time I thought you were just a series of anxiety dreams.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  He bowed, raising his fist to his heart in a gesture she guessed was as old as the Caesars. She wasn’t reassured by the courtesy. Vampire monarchs weren’t the kind of people you wanted to notice you, no matter how nice they were pretending to be. He rose, the ornaments in his long hair making a gentle clatter that made Ashe think of bones.

  “What do you want?” she asked, then added, “Your Majesty.”

  He looked amused. “Good manners from Ashe Carver, the famed huntress?”

  “That was a freebie. You have to earn anything more than that.”

  “Very well.”

  “What’s with the graveyard?”

  “I thought you would be at home here.”

  “In a cemetery?”

  “You deal out death to my kind. I am a king of the once-dead. Your thoughts dwell with your dead more than with the living around you. It seemed appropriate.”

  Ashe shuddered, partly from the cold, partly from the truth in his words. “People around me tend to die.” Like Reynard will, if I don’t get that urn back. A new and profound pain hit her in the belly. He had mattered before. Now he was vital to everything she hoped for.

  Belenos tilted his head, watching her as if she were an interesting worm. “Then you understand a little of what it is like to be of my kind. The living inevitably wither away, and the only thing we can do to save them is to share our dark gift.”

  The world rocked slightly, as if she’d had too much to drink. She felt the sadness in his words, as tantalizing as a delicious scent. They shared the same melancholy. Before she knew what she was doing, she took a step closer, responding to the too-human sorrow in his eyes. He put a hand on her arm, lightly touching her skin. The cold seemed to fall away, allowing her muscles to relax.

  Her gaze lingered on his mouth, almost feeling the curve of his lips against hers. They covered fangs, soft sensuality over a killing hunger. Erotic.

  What had she been doing before the graveyard? Her mind struggled to remember, but it was like running through an ocean of thick, golden honey.

  Belenos was suddenly even closer, his fingers pulling the elastic from her hair. It tumbled from her ponytail, sweeping like pale wings against her cheeks. She wore it down like that only when she was with a man. When she was seducing or seduced.

  No, not with this one. Not with a vampire.

&nbs
p; He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek.

  Reynard.

  “You’re hypnotizing me.” With all her will, she managed to raise her hand, pushing his touch from her face. She stumbled back, away from him. Cold flooded in, as if she’d stepped outside of a protective bubble. Her heart hammered, pulse pounding in her throat.

  “I’m just making you more comfortable.” He closed the gap between them, making all her struggles useless. She was frozen, unable to move away one more time. He cupped her face in one hand, running his thumb over her lips as gently as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “The man you’re with is all but dead. How am I any different?”

  Ashe couldn’t answer. Despair seemed to seep out of the grave dirt, crawling up her limbs like a foul tide.

  Brushing his lips against her forehead, Belenos breathed in her scent. “That’s why you kill us, isn’t it? I’ve shared your nightmares. I know your secrets. You’re already half in love with death. It’s a magnet to you. Safer to snuff out temptation before you join those who’ve already crossed over.”

  “Why did you bring me here?” Ashe said through gritted teeth, wanting her strength back, wanting weapons to rend Belenos’s dead flesh. “Why have you been in my dreams?”

  “I want your attention.”

  “Well, you’ve got it. What do you want?”

  “You. I can promise you freedom. No more guilt. No more shouldering the weight of a losing battle. You can’t protect everyone, Ashe. Let it go. Let yourself go.”

  “And what? Die? Suck blood for a living?” She felt dizzy, as if the ground were slowly falling away under her feet. The feeling was spiked with terror that he understood her all too well.

  Belenos’s lips brushed the fine hairs by her ear as he leaned close to whisper, “Think of the risks you take. Think of how you dance on the edge of death, greedy for that rush of adrenaline to make you feel alive. You’re already in the darkness, Ashe. Give in to it. Thrive on it.”