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.
A
pparently 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 werepar tridge 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-sorry-for-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.”
She stared at him, obviously unsettled by his casual air. “You’ll be riding to my rescue like Sir Galahad?”
“Nah, I’m not that good with horses. I’m better with dogs.”
“My dog ran away.”
“Is that why you’ve been crying?”
She blew out her breath, the sound bloated with sarcasm. “What are you doing here, half demon? What brings you back to a place you were so desperate to leave? Surely it’s not just to make me feel better.”
He hesitated, then decided to get to the point. “I have a problem. I need to speak to someone who’s been in the Castle for a long time. Someone who knows its history and how it works.”
The question caught her off guard, as if she hadn’t expected him to say anything serious. Her lips parted slightly, reminding him how soft they were. Being so close to Constance was reminding him why he couldn’t banish her from his mind. She was the type of woman you couldn’t kiss just once.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said. “I help you, you help me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why should I trust you?”
“You’re the one who tried to bite me, sweetheart.”
After giving him a speculative look, Constance ducked her head, hiding her face behind her long, dark hair. “All right. Atreus has been here longer than anyone else that I know of, but I don’t know how much help he would be.”
“Why not?” Mac knew Atreus’s name from his previous stay in the Castle—one of the thugs who had muscled his way to a position of dominance. Gang leaders who called themselves kings. “He rules a lot of the prison, doesn’t he?”
“Once.” Constance pursed those full lips. “Not anymore. He’s gone quite mad.”
Mac looked around at the stone walls and lugubrious torchlight. “Yeah, this place could get to somebody after a while. How long has he been here?”
“He was here long before Viktor and Josef came. They were here before I came.”
“When did, uh, Viktor and Josef arrive?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can we ask?”
“Josef is gone. Viktor can’t tell you. He’s gone mad, too.”
Mac swore.
“It was Viktor’s beast that made him that way. Eventually he gave in to his animal side.” Constance hugged her knees with her slender arms. “It was too hard for him to stay human.”
That sounded unpleasantly like Mac’s first demon transformation. “What kind of creature is Viktor?”
“Viktor is my dog.” Mac stared.
“He’s mostly wolf,” Constance amended. “Part vampire. Human to begin with. It was a curse. They’re not real werewolves. Atreus made Viktor and Josef into his personal guard back when he still walked the world.”
“Before he came to the Castle?”
“Atreus had keys. He came and went at will. I think Atreus might be as old as the Castle.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Then I need to speak to him.”
“I said, he’s mad.” Constance made an impatient gesture, flicking his words out of the air. The sudden movement made Mac jump and grab for his gun. Constance froze.
“Nervous?” she asked, dryly amused.
“Cautious.”
“Good.” She smiled grimly, an expression that looked wrong on her elfin face. “Be afraid. Atreus doesn’t give anything without a price.”
“What kind of price?”
“I don’t know. It could be anything. But I might convince him to help you.”
“Who are you to him?”
“He took me in when I got here. I was his servant for hundreds of years. I kept a home for him and those close to the throne. He was my protector.”
That made sense to Mac. Centuries ago, a person was either lord or servant without many options in between. A small, young female, vampire or not, would seek out someone powerful enough to keep her safe. Politically incorrect by modern standards, but a good survival policy in a hellhole like the Castle. That didn’t mean Mac liked it. There was plenty of room for abuse in a system that traded service for safety.
“Before I take you to him, I need you to help me,” she said.
“What do you want?” he said, more because he was curious than anything else. “And don’t say blood.”
“The saints above only know what sort of indigestion a half demon would give me,” she said flatly, but there was still a flicker of speculation in her eyes.
She paused, a strand of her dark hair stirring in an air current. She smoothed her hair down, its dark length part of the shadows. The Castle felt even emptier and more cavernous than usual, the torchlight seeming to fade before it fully touched her features.
“You should realize that Atreus might kill you.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. “But I’m the only one he has now. Maybe I can still make him listen. Maybe.”
Her voice held a world of devastation. Mac fell into the spell of her soft lilt, past the fangs and the quick tongue and the pretty face, and wondered where all that unhappiness came from. I really can’t afford to get emotionally invested in a vampire.
Mac ignored
the warning. There was too much he needed to know. “I thought Atreus had a big court with lots of soldiers and retainers. At least that’s what I heard.”
“That was long ago. As he lost his wits, he lost those who followed him. Now there is only me.”
“King Lear and Cordelia,” Mac said softly.
“Who are they?”
Things must be bad if I’m thinking Shakespeare. “Characters from a play.”
“Ah.” She lifted her chin, huffy. “I wasn’t a fine lady, to go spending my time at the theater. There was always work to be done.”
Mac couldn’t stop a smile.
“What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing. So, to get back to what we’ve agreed to so far, you will help me with Atreus. What do you want from me?”
She nodded, looking even more pale than the usual vampire white-on-white. He wasn’t sure why, but interceding with Atreus wasn’t going to be easy for her.
She pressed her lips into a flat line, her gaze shifting away. “First let me say I’m sorry I tried to bite you. I thought you were human. I need to bite a human to get my—well, like you, there is still a bit of human in me.”
A faint flush rose to her cheeks.
A bashful vampire. Who’da thunk. Mac helped her out. “You need to hunt to fully Turn.”
She nodded, averting her face from him. “Yes. I’ve escaped that fate for a long time. I can’t any longer.” She looked like she was about to start crying again, her lower lip tucking in.
Mac put his hand on her shoulder, the cloth of her dress soft from long wear. He could feel the bones beneath. “Why not?”
Her head jerked, her tear-starred gaze going from his hand to his face, but she didn’t shake him off. “The guardsmen took my son by force—I mean the foundling child I raised. I have no one to help me get him back.”
Mac caught his breath. He was suddenly and unexpect edly on familiar ground. A crime had been committed, and he had a witness. “They kidnapped him.”
The skin around her eyes tightened, as if she were pulling him into focus for the first time. “Yes, you could call it that.”
“How old is he?”
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