“You mean it would require several deaths?” Mac asked darkly.
“Careful what you say,” said Holly quickly. “These spells have a way of listening.” Mac shut his mouth.
“The passage describes a few specific points,” Holly said.
“The body is suspended from a large structure. This is going to take time to set up and they’ll need a big space to do it in. There’s also a body of water nearby, like a lake or a pond, that will be magically set on fire.”
Mac scribbled the details on his notepad as Holly spoke. There was only one pond he knew of in the Castle—the place with the dark pool—and that gave him the major creeps. He could see doing a sacrifice there.
De Winter sighed. “Well, I don’t see the benefit of involving ourselves in this Avatar business. What’s it got to do with Fairview?”
The notepad burst into flame. Mac swore, slapping his hand down on the flames. Caravelli jumped back, throwing his water on the fire before it spread.
All the vampires’in the room inched away from Mac. Fire was one of the few things that could hurt them. Mac just sat there, gaping at the drowning flames. What the frigging hell was that?
Perry pulled a pen from his pocket and reached across the table, stirring the soggy mess of wet ash until the last cinders were out. “So, have you tried antacids?” He looked over the rims of his wire-framed glasses. “I heard you got over the soul-eating thing, but how long have you been a fire demon?”
“Can we stay on topic?” said de Winter. “Flaming like that is just rude.”
Before Mac could struggle through another thought, the boardroom door opened. Lore looked inside, as if uncertain he had the right room.
“Where the hell were you?” Mac demanded.
The hound entered, followed by Connie and Viktor.
Everything else forgotten, Mac jumped to his feet. Why is she here? She looks scared. Where’s the kid?
She kept one hand on Viktor’s head while he sniffed loudly, taking in the scents of the various creatures in the room. Connie looked ragged.
Caravelli tensed. “Constance, what happened? Are you all right?”
“She came to Mac’s condo as I was leaving to join you,” Lore said. “She has bad news. We have less time than we thought.”
“None,” Connie said, her voice small but firm. She looked around the room, meeting the glances of everyone in it. “The guardsmen have mutinied against their captain.”
Her gaze drifted to meet Mac’s. They stood on opposite sides of the room, but the intimacy of her look put them side by side. “They took Atreus, the only sorcerer who had the strength to oppose them.”
How the hell did they do that? Mac wondered.
“And they took Sylvius.”
Mac caught his breath. So that’s why she’s here.
“The sacrifice boy?” de Winter asked.
She closed her mouth for a moment. Mac caught the quick tremor of her chin. She was fighting back tears. “Yes.”
God, she’s being brave.
Errata swore. “That’s it. We have to get him, and we have to get those hounds.”
Everyone started talking at once. Connie slipped across the room to stand beside Mac. Her cold, cold fingers slipped through his, gripping him tight. “I’m so hungry,” she whispered. “If Lore hadn’t been at your home, I don’t know what I would have done.”
Mac bent down, whispering in her ear. “But you made it. You found us.”
“There were so many people and buildings,” she whispered back. “I had no idea your home would be so far away. This city is huge!”
Fairview was actually a medium-sized place, but compared to an eighteenth-century village it would have seemed vast. Mac squeezed her hand.
She ducked her chin, looking dejected. “I thought coming into my power meant I could fight the guardsmen, but they’re still too strong. They’re soldiers, and I’m not. All I could do was run for help. It doesn’t seem like much.”
“You did what was necessary,” Mac replied. “After cen turies out of this world, you mastered your hunger and your fear and journeyed through a completely strange landscape to get the right message to the right people. You’re doing just fine.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes. She looked sad and tired, but there was a glimmer of pride there, too. “I suppose I am. And I didn’t even bite anybody along the way.”
Mac squeezed her hand. “Atta girl.”
“But I think I might have frightened a few.”
Mac didn’t want to know.
They turned back to the meeting.
“There is word of a second hellhound pack farther back along the road,” Lore was saying. “At least another thirty hounds. Prince Miru-kai’s men are in pursuit.”
“What about the guardsmen?” Mac asked.
“With panic about the Castle’s collapse, word is spreading quickly about the door, and the guardsmen are on alert.”
“Damn,” said Perry Baker. “We can’t mobilize quickly enough. To get enough boots on the ground, we need to contact the loners as well as the packs and prides.”
Errata swung her chair around and stood in one smooth motion. “Leave that to me. Radio stations aren’t just for talk shows.”
October 10, 4:00 a.m. 101.5 FM
“This is Errata Jones at CSUP Radio, 101.5 FM at the University of Fairview. This is a public service announcement and a call for volunteers. Those members of the supernatural community able to provide food and shelter for mothers and children please contact the station at 250-555-2787—that’s 250-555-CSUP. Please do so immediately. We need blankets, clothing, and food. Would members of the supernatural community peacekeeping roster or those with medical training please report to the Empire Hotel as soon as possible. Organizers are standing by. Thank you.”
The radio called, and people came.
Werecats, hellhounds, vampires, hedge-witches, and even two of the fey. Alessandro said there were familiar faces, but also people no one had ever met before. Lone wolves. A family of bears from a downtown cafe. The Bakers and the rest of Pack Silvertail, always well organized, were the first on the scene.
The turnout was impressive, given the short notice. They milled in the narrow alley by the Castle door, drinking takeout coffee and huddling in groups. The council members went from one clump to another, relaying their plan. All told, there were about forty fighters. The rest were standing by to deal with refugees and the wounded.
“Just not the numbers to storm the Castle in grand style,” said Caravelli regretfully. “Too bad. I always wanted to do something like that.”
Mac grunted. “Think Robin Hood—guerrilla warfare.”
“Bah. Men in green panty hose.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re in a hot temper.” Mac sighed. “Price of being a fire demon?”
“Do you have a sudden desire to pose for a calendar?”
“Those are fire fighters. Y’know. Dalmatians. Funny yellow hats.”
“That’s just for humans. A bit of soot and all the werekittens will be begging for you, and only you, to kindle their tender tails.”
“I am so not in the mood for vampire humor.”
“What would you rather be, the big bad demon or the boy with the spotted dog?”
“I thought you didn’t like fire.”
“I like watching you squirm.”
“Don’t start something, crypt boy. I have depths. Hey, does anyone have a gun I could borrow? The sorcerer squished mine.”
Lore brought his hounds. With a handful of hounds and Lore’s second-in-command, Caravelli was in charge of locating and escorting the closer group of hounds to safety.
This was the simplest part of their plan, because Lore’s intelligence placed the group no more than a mile east of the Castle door.
Once they were safe, Caravelli would take charge of securing the path of retreat for the warriors traveling farther into the Castle. While the nearest Castle residents were believed to
be at the werecat encampment Mac had seen, there was still a chance of danger from guardsman patrols or a hostile warlord.
Pack Silvertail, along with Lore and the rest of his hounds, were going in search of the group of refugees re-ported to be farther away. All the other fighters stayed with Holly. She was stationed by the door itself, her magic the last line of defense in the event something nasty tried to leave. It was the most critical position, and she was the only one among them with enough magic to hold the Castle door if everything else went wrong.
Mac, because of his unique demon abilities, was going after the guardsmen’s captives, hoping to succeed through stealth. He would go alone.
Or so he thought.
Connie was looking up at him, her silvery blue eyes turning the color of steel.
“But it’s dangerous,” Mac said, hearing how lame that sounded even as he spoke.
“I’m every bit as much of a monster as you are, Conall Macmillan. You need someone to watch your back. And this is my son we’re rescuing. I’m no fine lady to be sitting here and tatting lace while you ride off to war. You need me.” She checked the knife at her belt. “I know the Castle better than you do, and speed counts.”
She was right, but he was bound by the universal creed of macho heroes. “But...”
“Enough.” She poked him in the chest. “You’re only in charge of me if I say you are. Now I love you, boyo, but you’re not thinking clearly. Are you going to take advantage of two and a half centuries of knowledge of this place or are you going to pretend that being a great big demon makes you an expert on things you can’t possibly know?”
She loves me. His mind got stuck there.
“Well?” she asked.
“What if you’re hurt?”
“I’m a vampire,” she said in an exasperated voice. “And what if you’re hurt? No one should be on this job alone.” Mac surrendered. She loves me.
Perry found Mac a Sig Sauer almost like his old one. He offered to find something for Connie, but she wanted nothing but her belt knife.
“It’s what I’m used to. I used to gut chickens, you know,” she said, drawing her blade for the thirtieth time to check its edge.
“Handy.”
“I had to work for a living.”
“And?”
She fixed him with a guarded look, a little uncertain now that she had won the argument to go with him. “Gentlemen generally prefer the embroidering type.”
He touched her cheek, momentarily mesmerized by her wintry beauty—all snow and darkness. “Who says I’m a gentleman?”
As a reply, she thrust the knife back in the sheath, managing to make the simple act suggestive. And then she smiled. It wasn’t the Mona Lisa smile, but a broad grin.
Oh, yeah.
Mac drew the line at taking Viktor. The last thing he needed was an addled werebeast with obedience issues— and to be honest, Mac had grown too fond of the creature to put him needlessly at risk. Viktor was on a truck bound for Pack Silvertail’s rural property. There he could find werebunny rabbits to chase and a very large fenced enclosure suitable for oversized canines.
“Hey. Demon guy.”
Mac turned. Oh, great. It was Ashe.
Mac took a hard look at Holly’s sister. She had a light machine gun slung across her shoulder. She saw him look ing at it. “Altered for heavy silver ammunition. I know a guy at Colt.”
“Shouldn’t you be recuperating?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
Mac didn’t believe it for a moment. She looked pale and moved like she still hurt.
Ashe looked at Connie. “Hello, again.”
“Hello. We never introduced ourselves. My name is Constance.” Connie looked Ashe up and down in turn. “Are you Holly’s sister?”
“That’s right. Ashe Carver.”
Connie narrowed her eyes. “Are you here to slay vampires?”
“Not today,” said Ashe. “But it sounds like your son’s in real trouble. There’ll be plenty of action to go around.” She patted her weapon.
Mac turned to her. “Y’know, I saved your life. It kinda hurts you’re planning to throw it away so soon.”
Ashe gave him a lip curl, but it held no rancor. “You never know, Scorch, I might come in handy.”
Wonderful. The fire-demon thing’s already hot gossip.
“You need a warning label.” Mac looked her in the eye. She reminded him of some of the female cops he knew, including his old partner. Solid, for all the kick-ass attitude.
“A warning label. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said all week.” She turned and walked toward Pack Silvertail’s huddle, where the Bakers were assigning teams.
Mac called after her. “Yeah, and it would say ‘slow learner.’”
Ashe made a rude gesture.
Connie tilted her head. “She’s an unusual woman.” Mac sighed. “Thank God for that.”
Chapter 25
Alessandro’s group had been the first to move into the Castle. There had been half a dozen guardsmen stand-ing watch inside the door. There were now six guardsmen tied up and in the custody of the bears.
Just before they moved off, he stopped and folded Holly in his arms.
“Be careful,” she said.
He held her away, his arms on her shoulders. She was giving him the full force of her lovely green eyes.
“You be careful,” he said. Suddenly everything seemed too fragile. He wanted to take everything back and start the night over. A night where there was no Castle, and Holly wouldn’t be left behind to battle stray monsters. Maybe they’d have watched a movie.
“Alessandro,” she said on an indrawn breath.
“Yes?”
She exhaled, her look confused. He waited.
“I’m the one with the magic,” she said. “Don’t take big risks. Don’t make me come looking for you.”
He could tell she meant it, but that hadn’t been what she’d meant to say. They exchanged a look. Her eyes were full of nothing but love, and a trace of fear, and a lot of courage.
“I’ll tell you the rest later,” she said. He kissed her again, lightly this time, or he’d never tear himself away. “Take my gun.”
“I don’t need it.”
Yes, she had magic, but he’d made her learn to fire a weapon. He liked insurance.
“Take it, anyway. It’ll make me feel better. I’m better with a sword.”
Because if she wasn’t waiting, what was the point of coming back?
Constance remembered Bran’s orders as the guardsmen had captured Sylvius. Keep him separate from the others, especially the sorcerer. Put Atreus in the comer cell. Keep this one downstairs.
How could the guardsmen keep control of Atreus? His powers were growing weak, but he could still protect himself. She hadn’t had time to think about it before, but now it preyed on her mind. She couldn’t think of an answer, and that meant there was a surprise in store.
Not the pleasant kind of surprise, either.
They gambled that Sylvius would still be in his cell, so their destination was the guardsmen’s quarters. Constance and Mac had been running for a long time, the terrain rising. As they approached a junction of hallways, Mac threw out an arm, signaling a stop. Constance nearly bumped into him, her shoes skidding on the stone.
“There’s someone ahead,” Mac mouthed. “I saw movement.”
They waited. Then Constance saw it wasn’t people. “My God,” Constance breathed. “There’s another one,” murmured Mac. “Incredible.” For a moment, the shadows seemed to part. The first was visible only for a moment, a flash of white crossing the cor ridor ahead. Constance blinked, thinking it was a trick of her eyes. She leaned forward, her body resting against the delicious heat of Mac’s broad back. The sensation nearly made her forget everything else.
Then there was another flash of white. This time she got a good look, because it paused.
It was about the size of a deer, its pale coat dappled in light gray. Long, slender
legs ended in cloven hooves, a silvery sheen glistening from the long mane and tail. It lifted its head, whuffing, sniffing the air. Nervously, it turned its head.
At the center of its forehead, the spiraling horn shone like mother-of-pearl.
It was so beautiful, Constance wanted to weep. If that was not splendor enough, two more of its kind joined it. Constance blinked, her eyes dry from staring. One of the newcomers touched noses with the first, and the three moved away, passing out of sight.
Mac turned, his eyes alight. He slid his arm around her. “Did you see that?”
“They’re from the levels below,” said Constance. “If they’ve been driven this far up the corridors, the lower caverns must be disappearing.”
“What else is down there?” Mac asked uneasily.
Constance shook her head. “No one knows for sure.”
Alessandro followed Lore’s second-in-command through what must have been the worst rat maze in the Castle. These were narrow, cold passageways, some so cramped that Alessandro had to turn sideways to slip through. Torches were rare, and at times there was barely enough light for even his vampire sight to function. However, he wasn’t complaining. They had met no guardsmen, and the hounds were perfectly certain of their path. “How much farther?” he asked.
The lead hound cast a glance over his shoulder. His name was Bevan, a young, solid-looking hound who seemed to be Lore’s friend as well as his right hand—or would that be paw?
“Another five minutes,” he said, the words colored by the almost Slavic accent the hounds had. At least this one spoke with nonhounds. Many either couldn’t or wouldn’t.
Alessandro nodded, ducking as the corridor ceiling dipped. He’d already unhooked his broadsword from its hanger and carried it by the scabbard. It had proved a nuisance in the narrow spaces.
There were six hounds following him, six pairs of shuffling feet and six beating hearts. Hounds are not food, he told himself, but he could feel the vague tug of hunger, anyway. Just nerves. If he stayed long enough, the urge to feed would pass entirely, smothered by the Castle’s magic.
Smothered. The word rattled through his head. Claustrophobia tickled between his shoulder blades. Lore is going to owe me for this.
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