Unchained

Chapter 9

Ashe stopped at the supermarket en route. She wasn’t going to show up empty-handed, especially since her grandmother had probably fed Eden dinner. Although Grandma loved Eden’s visits, to Ashe it felt Although Grandma loved Eden’s visits, to Ashe it felt like freeloading unless she contributed something to the meal—and right now, she needed every scrap of pride she could cling to.

“I’ll be quick,” she said to Reynard, who had been largely silent throughout his first car ride. Except for a wide-eyed look, he was handling his introduction to the technological age with surprising calm.

“Take your time,” he said, reaching out to run his hand over the air vent, the glove box, and the gearshift with reverent fascination. “The pictures on the television don’t truly capture the feel of riding in one of these.”

Ashe bit her lip. He was a man besotted. Wisdom said touching would lead to fondling, which would lead to ignition. Ashe took the keys, just in case. As little as she liked the SUV, she needed it in one piece. Oh, honey, just wait till you get a load of my motorcycle.

Showing off to Reynard would be oddly thrilling.

She was in and out of the store in five minutes. They reached their destination around quarter past eight. Grandma Carver, retired witch and family matriarch, lived in a seniors’ complex. The Golden Swans balanced independent living with just enough care to keep the residents healthy and safe. Grandma had raised Ashe and Holly after the death of their parents. They had all lived in the family home, but Grandma had moved to the Swans about five years ago, when her arthritis made climbing up and down a three-story Victorian too much of a challenge.

Of course, Ashe suspected the real reason for the move was the Swans’ avid bridge community. More gambling went on there than in Atlantic City, and Grandma rarely lost.

They took the elevator—another first for Reynard—up the east tower and knocked on Grandma’s door. She usually left it unlocked, but not this time. Rampaging vampires got even her attention. The door opened as far as the chain would let it, a sliver of Grandma’s apple-doll face showing through the crack.

“Ah, it’s you,” she said. The door closed, chain rattled, and it opened fully this time.

“Hey, G-ma.” Ashe had to bend down to hug her. These days, her grandmother barely came up to her chin. Ashe noticed that now there was more white than gray in the older woman’s long ponytail.

“Who is this cupcake?” Grandma said as Ashe released her.

Ashe rolled her eyes. “This is Captain Reynard. Hands off.”

“I’d say he looks old enough to look after himself. It’s good to share, darling.”

“I’m enchanted to make your acquaintance, madam,” Reynard said, setting the bag of groceries he was carrying beside the door. He bowed over Grandma’s hand, obviously thrilling her right out of her orthopedic sneakers.

He shot both women a devilish look. Grandma’s cheeks turned pink. Ashe wondered if hers did, too.

“Then come on in. No point in letting the neighbors get jealous.” Grandma Carver gestured for them to follow her inside. She walked with two canes, and she used both to thump her way across the floor. Ashe winced, hoping her downstairs neighbor was hard of hearing.

The one-bedroom apartment was pin-neat and smelled of cigarettes. The decor was a nostalgic mix of old-fashioned chintz, mahogany, and crocheted antimacassars. Grandma’s decorating sense was the only demure thing about her.

“Ashe, where’ve you been hiding this one?” Grandma demanded. “One hello and I need a smoke.”

“Sit, Grandma,” Ashe commanded. “I brought dessert.”

“Allow me.” Reynard guided Grandma to the table.

“Oh, Ashe, honey, keep him around. Just for me?”

Ashe wanted to crawl under the couch. “Grandma!”

Reynard winked.

“Agh!” Ashe picked up the groceries from the hallway and headed into the kitchen. Her grandmother was wise, dedicated to their witch heritage, and loved them all fiercely, but sometimes she was also a big, fat pain.

“Mom!” Eden bounced into the room like a yo-yo, completely forgetting her dignity. She was always happiest around Grandma. “Whatcha bring?”

“Nanaimo bars. Sorry to be so long. What were you doing while you were waiting?”

“Reading. Let me get plates.”

“Thanks, Eden.”

“We did some basic meditation exercises today,” Grandma said, her voice heavy with theatrical significance. “Eden is a young witch showing every sign that she’s going to get her powers very soon.”

“Cool.” Ashe was proud and filled with maternal dread at the same time.

Her grandmother’s look said that she knew exactly what she was thinking. “Ashe, did you notice that Eden and I are twins today?”

Eden carried the plates to the table and stood next to Grandma, draping one arm around the older woman’s shoulder. They both wore black sweatpants and hot-pink T-shirts. The only difference was Grandma’s orange cardigan, which featured a fleet of chopper motorcycles done in crewelwork around the hem.

Ashe grinned. “Nice sweater.”

“I thought it made a statement. Gray power rules.”

“Very colorful,” Reynard added uncertainly.

Ashe finished making introductions. Eden was polite. Dessert was served. Reynard declined anything but water.

“Have you heard from Holly today?” Ashe asked Grandma.

“I talked to her on the phone. Little Robin is fine. Alessandro stopped by on his way downtown. I told him what you told me on the phone about your vampire at the library. He said he’d look into it.”

“Mac will be interested to learn of this,” Reynard put in. “It puts an entirely new layer on the assassination attempt.”

Ashe put down her fork. The rich, sugary dessert—brownie, custard, and a thick layer of dark chocolate—curdled in her empty stomach. “Just add one more strangeness onto a big, steaming pile of weird.”

Eden excused herself to return to the living room and her book.

Grandma leaned over and whispered to Ashe, “She was asking about her grandparents again today. Soon you’re going to have to tell her what happened, before she finds out on her own.”

“I know,” Ashe whispered back, feeling old, familiar guilt.

“Soon.” The older woman gave her a significant look. “So what else is up?”

Ashe got down to business. “I was hoping you could offer some insights. There are a few things going on.”

Grandma fidgeted. She obviously wanted a cigarette but refused to smoke around Eden or Robin. “Okay, hit me. What’s up?”

“For starters, we need to find an artifact that was stolen from the Castle,” Ashe said.

“You’re looking for a spell to find lost objects?”

“Stolen by a demon,” said Reynard. “My guess is that the object would be shielded from ordinary location spells.”

Grandma blinked in surprise. “Have you talked to Lore? If there’s a black, gray, or even slightly dingy market in Fairview, the hellhounds seem to know about it.”

“You think talking to him would be better than using a spell?” Ashe asked.

“Cast a spell and the thief, if he’s any kind of a magic user himself, will know you’re looking for him. Sometimes simple is safest.”

“Good point.” Ashe looked at Reynard. “I know where Lore works. I’ll try to set something up first thing tomorrow morning.”

Grandma leaned back in her chair. “So what’s the object? What’s going on?”

Ashe and Reynard shared a look.

“Where do we start?” Ashe said.

Grandma huffed. “I don’t much care. Spill, or forget any more free advice.”

They explained who Reynard was, and then filled her in, starting with the rabbit, carrying on through the lawyer’s demon problem and the theft of the urn, and finishing with the death of Frederick Lloyd, the vampire in the library. The news that he was the King of the East’s emissary, and that the king wanted an heir, made her grandmother’s face pucker with anxiety.

“My Goddess.” Grandma refilled her coffee cup. The gesture looked automatic, like she needed something to do with her hands. “Just because Holly and Alessandro had Robin, are vampires suddenly going to want kids of their own?”

“Only some of them,” said Ashe dryly. “Lloyd let something slip about other vampires considering daddyhood to be an abomination. That’s the same term the sniper in the gardens used.”

Reynard looked grim. “You think the sniper, or whoever hired him, planned to prevent any future children by killing you?”

“Is Holly in danger as well?” Grandma snapped, although the answer was obvious.

Cold dread snaked around Ashe’s limbs. If Omara, the local vamp queen, heard about the King of the East’s messenger, she would freak. There’d be monster politics raining all over everyone. Fairview would become a kill zone. They had to take care of this before her fangship found out.

Ashe met Grandma’s eyes, and guessed by her expression that she was thinking along the same lines. “Holly’s our best magical weapon, but she said her mojo is still wonky. Any idea when she’ll be back to normal?”

“Soon. It usually takes a month or two after the baby is born before a witch’s powers recover. In the meantime, Alessandro will look after Holly. You take care of yourself and Eden. Protect your family. Stake half the damned vampires in town if you have to.”

Rambo Grandma. Great. “It’s not going to be that easy. I’m looking at a custody case. Hunting monsters isn’t an approved single- mom occupation. Even if I fly under that radar, the vamps like their revenge. I’m afraid that if I make a move, it’ll put Eden in danger.”

“Then let me be your sword,” Reynard offered, leaning forward across the table. The dim light of the dining room darkened his eyes and pared any trace of softness from his face. He was all sharp angles. Granite with an edge of steel. “There is no reason for you to risk yourself or your daughter. Not while I am here.”

But you won’t be here for long. “You’ve got your own problems.”

“It’s the least a gentleman can do.” He gave a sardonic smile. “Besides, I thought we agreed to help each other.”

Ashe sat back in her chair, feeling a sudden need for distance. This was too much, too soon. “I said I’d help you. I don’t hunt with a partner. Never have, never will.”

She looked him straight in the eyes, determined to make her point. She saw a flicker of what might have been hurt; then his gaze became hard and gray as the stones of the Castle walls. He’d taken her refusal as a personal rejection. Annoyance burned through her stomach. Great. Like I have time to soothe wounded male egos.

“Mo-o-o-om!” Eden bawled from the living room.

The air around the adults’ table suddenly felt brittle with tension. The interruption only cranked it up three notches.

Ashe took a shaking breath before she called out, “Hark, I hear the sweet tones of the Princess Eden!”

“May I have more dessert, please?”

Good grammar emerged only when Eden wanted something. “Come and get it.”

“But I’m reading!”

“Then leave your eyeballs there.”

“Mo-o-om!” This time disgust.

Ashe made a face. She was pulled in too many directions.

“I’ll take it to her.” Reynard stood up with a cool glance at Ashe, impatience in every line of his body. He shoved a slice of the chocolaty dessert onto a plate and stalked away from the table.

Grandma shot Ashe a caustic look. “You really know how to win friends and influence people.”

“Whatever,” Ashe muttered.

“He’d be a good partner. He looks like he’s broken a few rules in his time. You don’t end up an immortal in a dungeon by doing nothing but crossword puzzles.”

“I don’t want a partner. You have to be responsible for a partner. I don’t need that.”

“Why not?”

Ashe sat back and folded her arms. “When I’ve done such a good job with the other people in my life?” Like Mom and Dad and Roberto . . .

“Take his help, Ashe. He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”

“How much can I rely on a guy who’s on a ticking clock?”

“It’s clear from one look that he thinks the world of you.”

“Is that enough?”

“You’re pushing him back into his stone cell.”

“Damned straight, I am. With his urn. He’ll live that way.”

Grandma toyed with her coffee cup. “If you don’t want my advice, then why are you here?”

“I do need help. I need a shoulder to cry on.”

Grandma raised her eyebrows. “Besides the obvious, what’s the matter?”

“Everything,” Ashe said in a low voice. “Like I said, it’s one thing to be flying solo when it’s pouring vamps and demons.”

Grandma took a swallow of coffee, taking her time. “But the stakes are higher with your family around.”

“I’m damn near paralyzed. I can’t afford to make a mistake. The last time the monster posse showed up I had to send Eden away.”

“So think like a slayer, not a soccer mom. You need to go on the offensive and get ahead of the game. Get them before they have time to make another move.”

Ashe set her coffee mug on the table with an audible thump. She was pulled in too many directions to think straight anymore. “But that’s the whole problem. I can’t kick every ass that needs kicking anymore. Yes, I hate that. I actually like hunting. But changing who I am gives me a life that includes my daughter, and I’m not sorry. There is nothing I won’t do for her.”

Grandma shoved her plate away, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “The world does not run on absolutes. Your role in our family is as a protector. That doesn’t mean you never get to be a Norman Rockwell mother. You just can’t be one right now. Slay now; make tuna casserole later. Do both. Be versatile. It’s the way of the modern woman.”

“That sounds pretty simplistic.”

“Because it is. If Fairview’s not safe, Eden’s not safe. The question’s not whether you’re going to clean up this mess, but when you’re going to get busy and do it. What are your options? Let the bad vampires run amok? Send the demon a housewarming basket? The list of people who can deal with this sort of thing is very short, and you’re at the top. If you’re worried about safety, stay with Holly. That house is a magical fortress.”

Ashe gave a single, reluctant nod. She hated sleeping in her childhood home. It held too many memories, but if things got bad, she could suck it up. “There’s still the whole custody thing. I have to do this entirely under the radar.”

“I understand. We’ll cover you.”

“We?”

“Me, Holly, Alessandro. Your family. We’ll figure out how.”

Ashe was shaking her head before Grandma finished talking. “I can’t put that burden on you.”

“Damn it, Ashe, if you want things to get easier, you have to change. Learn to accept a helping hand!”

Reynard was furious. She cannot refuse my assistance. It’s not reasonable. Clearly she could see he was more than capable. They’d killed two vampires together. But there was nothing reasonable about Ashe Carver. She was all will and steel.

There was no possibility that she was better off without his help, and her resistance brought his own will—and, to be honest, his pride—into focus.

She could tell him he wasn’t welcome. That did not mean he would accept her refusal. Ever. He hadn’t survived centuries in the Castle by giving in. He had learned how to bide his time. If he had to, he would simply outsmart her.

The idea curled through him like a plume of incense, part inspiration and part nostalgia for the Reynard who had stalked the drawing rooms of yore. How pleasurable those days had been. Their sweet nostalgia lingered like a perfume. He had been a master with the women of his time. Surely he could handle one of their descendants in much the same way. For Ashe’s own good, of course.

At least until he fell off his perch, he thought sardonically.

His inner conversation stopped dead when he saw Eden. The child was curled into a ball on the sofa, book clutched to her chest. Her brown eyes were wide. He set the plate on the small table beside her.

She just kept looking at him, as if she were expecting something more. Reynard’s inner rake vaporized like a wisp of smoke, vanishing into the wiser, harder man.

“Is there something else you desire?” he asked gently.

Her gaze shifted toward the dining room, where Ashe and her grandmother were arguing in low, tight tones. “I thought Mom would come,” she said in a small voice.

She hadn’t wanted the cake; she’d wanted her mother. Something is wrong.

Reynard listened for a moment, trying to hear what the girl would hear. The argument sounded different from a distance, without the gestures and faces to accompany words: the old woman’s low, husky voice; Ashe’s was lighter, clear, and aching with tension.

His ears told him things he hadn’t seen. Anguish.

He could tell Ashe was tearing herself to pieces, all her certainty a bluff for a terrible fear that she would fail her child. But all Eden would understand was that her mother was terrified, and a frightened mother made for a frightened daughter. Reynard was no expert with children, but he had seen soldiers’ families dragged along as camp followers during war. He recognized that panicked look. In those cases, he’d always had something practical to offer—food, water, protection. Now he was at a loss.

He sat down beside Eden. She let go of the book, and it slid to the floor. He read the title: Prince Caspian. Nothing he recognized.

“Easier when you’re a lone wolf,” the grandmother said from the next room.

“Lots,” Ashe replied, her voice quiet, but not quiet enough.

Eden gave Reynard a look filled with confusion. “Why does Mom want to be alone all the time?”

Bloody hell, she thinks Ashe doesn’t want her here. Yet, just the way Ashe looked at the child made that idea impossible. Ashe wanted her daughter above everything else.

Mother and daughter were on a collision course of misunderstanding. Just like he and his brother had been. Families hadn’t changed much over the years.

Reynard swore to himself for a moment. Seduction—he understood how to play those games. He knew how to fight, gamble, and make the witty chatter expected of a gentleman at dinner. Providing emotional comfort was something quite different, and nothing he had ever been good at. He had been raised to show no weakness, and the Castle crushed sympathy before it began. But the sinking feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him back away. He still didn’t know what to say to a child, so he went with the truth.

“You realize that your mother fights monsters from time to time,” he said, hoping he wasn’t insulting the girl’s intelligence.

“Yeah,” Eden said bleakly. “She’s done that for a while now.”

“That is why we were late. We had a problem to take care of.”

She looked down, thick, dark lashes hiding her eyes. She didn’t have the doll-like prettiness of some young girls, but she would grow into a striking woman.

“I heard you guys talking. There are bad vampires around.” Her fingers plucked nervously at the fringe of a throw cushion. “She should let me go back to Saint Flo’s so I wouldn’t be in her way. I should just go.”

She’s far too young to have to worry about demons and slayers. Reynard wished he were Mac, who would know how to give support with a touch and the right word. He took the girl’s hand in his. It was small and warm. She looked up at him, her eyes surprised and wary. He let her go, hoping she understood that he meant only kindness. “Your mother needs you here. She wishes the vampires would stay away, that’s all.”

“Then why is she afraid?”

Damnation. “If she’s a little bit afraid, then she won’t make mistakes. That’s part of why she’s good at what she does.”

“How dangerous is it? Tell me the truth,” Eden asked. Her eyes were starred with tears she seemed too stubborn to shed, but her mouth was firm and steady.

She’s already lost her father. He swallowed hard, feeling the complexity of the child’s world unrolling around him like a giant map. Every horizon held storms and dragons.

“I won’t tell you it’s not dangerous, because that would not be true,” he said, inwardly wincing at his honesty. “But I’m going to be with her. That tips things in our favor.”

Eden’s scrutiny made him think of Anubis weighing the souls of the dead. He was being judged down to his brand-new bootlaces. “So you’ve got her back, then?”

Fortunately, that was one of Mac’s expressions. He understood what she was asking of him. “Yes. Absolutely.” Even if Ashe doesn’t accept that yet.

Eden put her hand over his. “Good.”

Her hand was half the size of his, the nails chewed and stained with blue ink. Beneath it, his own looked large and rough from long years of handling the tools of war.

Reynard realized he’d made a huge promise. He’d damned well better live long enough to keep it. His jaw set. His stomach felt as if he were betting his inheritance on a last hand of cards. He’d never been a praying man, but this seemed like a good occasion for it.

Just then, Ashe strode into the room, wearing the look of a woman at the edge of her reserves. “Time to go, kiddo.”

She looked at the two of them, her bright green gaze darting from one face to the other, finally settling on Eden’s. Reynard saw the look of dawning horror on Ashe’s face.

“It was quite easy to hear your conversation from here,” he said, a reproachful edge creeping into his voice. He couldn’t help it, but then regretted the look of shame in her eyes.

Ashe blinked rapidly. “Eden, don’t be scared by what we were talking about. . . .”

Eden jumped off the couch. “I’m glad Captain Reynard’s helping you.”

Ashe shot him a glare that withered as fast as it bloomed. She hugged the girl to her, hiding her face in the brown curls. “We’re discussing that.”

Reynard frowned. No one was going to berate Ashe for her mistakes harder than Ashe herself. The problem was that punishing herself wasn’t the answer.

He rose, following Ashe as she herded Eden toward the door, gathering up the girl’s backpack and coat as she went. The grandmother waited to see them off, leaning on her canes.

“Be sensible,” she said.

“I’ll do what I think is right,” Ashe grumbled, but she sounded weary.

Reynard gave the old lady a respectful bow. “And I will work your granddaughter around to my way of thinking.”

Grandma Carver smiled sweetly. “And I’ll knock your heads together if you screw it up. And, Ashe,” she said, handing her a paper bag, “these charms will keep out nightmares, whether they’re your own or sent by someone else. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, G-ma.” Ashe hugged and kissed her grandmother.

They left. Outside the air was cold and clean. It had rained while they were indoors. Reynard filled his lungs, gulping down the tang of the spring night. He’d forgotten that sharp, sweet scent until that chase in the gardens. He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Don’t hyperventilate,” said Ashe, unlocking her vehicle so Eden could climb inside. “Do you have someplace to stay? I’ve got a couch.”

“I’ve made arrangements,” Reynard said, wishing he could accept her offer. He didn’t want to leave her side, but that would lead to the inevitable question of beds and pleasure and the decision of behaving like a gentleman or a desperate man with the life span of a flea. One was dull and the other lacked dignity. “What time shall we meet to go see Lore?”

“I’ll call him tomorrow morning. Eden goes to the rec center for piano and swimming. I’m going to drop her off and catch a quick workout. Meet me at nine thirty at Morgan’s Gym. The people we need will be up by then. We’ll make plans from there.” Ashe shut the passenger door with a sigh. “Of course, you don’t know where the gym is.”

“I will find you,” he said. “That’s not a problem.”

“Be careful saying stuff like that. That sounds a bit stalkerish.”

Reynard chuckled softly. “Your world is confusing.” He looked up. “Even the constellations are hard to make out.”

“Light pollution.”

“Unfortunate.” There were no stars in the Castle. That blankness had cut his spirit down like scythed wheat. Without even the sky above, he’d truly been shut off from everything he’d known. That loss still chilled him.

A man could go mad counting so many losses. Perhaps that was what drove guardsmen like Killion to murderous sprees.

Her eyes found his, their emerald brightness smothered by the darkness. “One thing I’ve gotta say. After last fall, y’know, when you were so hurt, I kept wondering if you were all right. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Or write. Or whatever.”

“I didn’t know you remembered,” he said.

Her brows drew together. “Of course I did! It was just that I—”

He held up a hand to stop her, regretting his words. “I was trapped in the Castle. You had to bring your daughter home. There is nothing to apologize for.”

She shrugged. “I just want you to know that I didn’t forget about you.”

“Thank you,” he said. He felt like he should say more, but he wasn’t sure what she would have welcomed.

“Okay,” said Ashe, rubbing her eyes. “Tomorrow morning at the gym. Do you need a ride anywhere?”

“No, thank you.” Reynard folded his arms before he could reach out to her. “Good night.”

She rummaged inside the back of the vehicle and handed him the string- handled bag with his uniform and spare clothes. As he took it, she hesitated. “We’re going to make some serious headway on this urn thing tomorrow. I promise. We’ll go see Lore, if he’s around. Then I’ve got a ghost to take care of for my sister.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy that.”

Her mouth worked a moment. “I didn’t say you were coming along.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.” He met her gaze, standing his ground.

She huffed and turned away. “Bloody English bastard.”

Reynard smiled to himself. He had won the skirmish. It was a start.

Ashe and her girl drove off into the night, taillights glowing like eerie eyes. He stood in the dark for a long time, watching the night. The lights went off in Grandma Carver’s windows. A cat trotted by, intent on patrolling its territory.

It was pleasant to stand there in the outside world, enjoying the illusion of freedom. Perhaps that was why he wanted to help Ashe and Eden so desperately. It was a choice he made freely and had nothing to do with the duty that was his prison even more than the stone walls.

He had wrestled with that duty even before he knew it existed.

A few years after he found the black book with the sun, he’d been playing pirates with his brother. At the moment, he was a runaway slave and hiding underneath the curve of the stairway right outside the drawing room door. His parents were entertaining a few close friends inside the beautifully appointed room—Reynard and his brother were rarely permitted inside it—so Reynard was quiet as the proverbial mouse. That was why, despite the excitement of his game, he had heard them talking.

“The Order’s lottery has always demanded the heirs.” That was his father’s voice. “Why can’t they take the younger sons? The warlock families are weak enough without scything down the flower of our manhood.”

Another voice answered. It was a dry, dusty, cruel voice that made Reynard squirm even farther into the protective shadows of the stairs. “Without sacrifice, where is the service to duty?”

That one sentence, delivered in the voice of a nightmare, had stayed with him, haunting his child’s imagination. At the time, he had wondered what sort of games the adults played. He didn’t know he and his brother were already pieces on the board.

Pieces about to find their checkmate.

It was only years later—many, many years—that he understood his father was just as much of a victim. Heirs were taken to keep the families weak, so that none could challenge the Order’s ruling elite. His father had spoken out of a generations-old frustration.

Eventually, he had managed to forgive the fact his father had hoped Reynard would play the sacrificial lamb—even if his father’s wish had come true.

The memory darkened his mood too much for him to enjoy the night any longer. Reynard reached out with his mind and pulled the power from the atmosphere around him. Wind and rain surrendered their energy, letting him gather it inside his body. It spun inside him, churning, building until he lifted his hand, spreading his fingers. Then he released it as easily as he would a sigh.

The charred scent of magic filled the night. A bright dot hung just beyond the tips of his fingers. It whirred madly, spinning outward until it seemed to burn a hole in the air. The dot grew to a ragged orange disk. Reynard stretched it with his mind, pulling and tearing at the fabric between this world and the Castle. As the magic built, it crawled along his skin with prickling claws, filling his nose and mouth, coursing down his limbs like water sprayed in icy needles.

The portal was a fiery bright mouth, the Castle the darkness of its man-sized gullet. Reynard squinted against the brightness, and stepped through.

“Nice threads,” said Mac. “You look normal.”

“I’m in disguise,” Reynard replied. “But never mind that. I’ve come to give a report. A vampire attacked Ashe in the public library today.”

“Say what?”

Reynard had just sat down in the quarters Mac shared with Constance, his vampire lady love. The pair had a passionate and yet down-to-earth sort of happiness that radiated throughout their domain. The rooms were bright, modern, spacious, and very undungeonlike. Just like the outside world, the place was filled with color. A basket of knitting sat beside Reynard’s chair. Glossy decorating magazines fanned out across a glass-topped coffee table. Constance was the consummate homemaker.

Mac picked up the remote and clicked off the flat-screen TV. The fire demon was sprawled in a huge leather recliner, and had been watching the hockey game. Perhaps it was a good thing Reynard interrupted, because he smelled something burning. Mac had an unhappy tendency to scorch his surroundings when his favorite team was losing.

“It seems the King of the East is a player in our melodrama. The vampire was his emissary. Alessandro Caravelli and the other locals are finding out what they can.”

“Bugger vampire politics. So much for sneaking fifteen minutes of R and R.” Mac ran his hands through his hair, clearly exhausted despite his demonic strength. “Interesting. I’ll follow up with Caravelli and find out what he learns.”

Reynard gripped the arms of the chair to stop his hands from shaking with anger. He wanted to beat Frederick Lloyd to a pulp all over again. “Word has spread that at least one Carver woman has borne a vampire’s child. Now some want to sink more than teeth into their flesh.”

“Nasty.”

For the second time that night, Reynard recounted everything that had happened so far. When he finished, Mac made a disgusted face. “With Miru-kai and the vampires and a possible demon escape, the only species not kicking up a fuss right now are the werebeasts.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly.” Reynard sighed, paused, and realized he was too weary to go on. “On another subject, how does Stewart fare?”

“I called his mother. He’ll be in the hospital for a few days, but they expect he’ll recover.”

“I’m going to wring Miru-kai’s neck when I find him. He’s deep in the middle of this, somewhere.”

They sat in glum silence for a moment. Reynard could hear Constance singing to herself in another room. Her presence reminded him of the time he’d taken her son prisoner. After spending even a short time with Ashe and her child, he understood a little more Constance’s pain at losing the lad. It was a wonder she’d ever forgiven Reynard for what he’d done, even if it had come out right in the end.

He shook his head to clear away the memory, and thought instead of everything he’d seen that day.

“It is hard to walk in the outside world,” he said, half to himself. “It is confusing, because much is unfamiliar, and yet I remember parts of my old life that I’d forgotten.” Things that would have been easier never to recall.

Mac toyed with the remote. “I wish I was able to come with you, but I’ve got, y’know, fairy problems. I’m thinking pesticide, but that could take a few days.”

Reynard laughed.

Mac shrugged. “Do you think you can manage this urn business with Ashe’s help? If you need me, I’ll find a way to put everything on hold and go outside with you.”

“I will be fine. I rode in an automobile today. And an elevator.”

Mac grinned. “Look at you go, you daredevil.” “The modern world has much to recommend it.” Reynard stood. “The cars are fascinating.”

“So am I going to see you zooming around here in a sports coupe?”

“I would like to ride a good horse again.”

“I’ve got some unicorns down in the basement, if you’d like to take them out for a spin.”

“They only like virgins. I’m rather too late to that party.”

Reynard walked back to his own quarters filled with a mix of weariness and impatience. Tomorrow would bring more challenges. It would bring another chance to linger in the free air of the outside world, to be near Ashe, and to find parts of himself he thought long dead. Yet, what was the point of coming back to life, only to sink once again into the sunless existence of the Castle?

He was weary of the question. There was no good answer. The Castle was both oppressive and safe. Doomed, damned, doomed, damned. His curse just kept on ticking.

He opened the door to his Spartan quarters. There was a sitting room and a bedchamber, nothing more. He had little need of possessions. One trunk held weapons, the other clothes. A small shelf of books rounded out the furnishings.

After the chaotic plenty of Ashe’s world, he saw his rooms with fresh eyes. They looked like a monk’s cell. No bright, sunny colors here. He pulled off his new T-shirt as he walked into his bedroom. His narrow bed looked as welcoming as an anvil. The paper bag with his clothes sat on the plain counterpane. Carefully, he took out his worn uniform and folded it neatly. Not all of it was original. Much of his red coat had been replaced, piece by piece, but the buttons and braid were the same. The buttonholes, arranged in pairs down the front, were carefully mended. No loose threads. Nothing frayed. With so little to call his own, the uniform had become more to him than a suit of clothes. It was everything he should have aspired to, everything he should have achieved in his life when he still walked in the world.

Beneath the uniform were the rest of the clothes Ashe had bought him. Comfortable, easy, fresh, new. If they represented anything, it was the unknown. Or maybe they were just socks and shirts—clothes blank and empty of meaning, like they were supposed to be. Normal people didn’t overthink socks.

He poured water into his washbasin and bent over, looking in the spotted, faded mirror that hung above it. Swirling blue tattoos covered his chest, inked there by the magic that identified him as a guardsman. They were different from Mac’s, more primitive. Where Mac’s tattoos marked him with the authority of the Castle, Reynard bore the brand of the Order.

The oath—curse—had taken his life and written servitude into his flesh. He could feel the hollow ache of the urn’s absence. Once he had entered the Castle, the feeling had resolved into a pain under his ribs. It was growing, reminding him that he was, for all intents and purposes, little better than a dead man. Mac had suggested that he sleep in a hotel outside the Castle, where he would be closer to the urn.

A sudden stab of pain shot through him, making him flinch and grip the sides of the washstand. He was going to have to accept Mac’s offer of a hotel room after all.

He was running out of time.

And yet . . . he had seen the sun today.

Given hope to a little girl.

And he’d kissed Ashe Carver.

For the first time since—well, since he’d traded his life for his brother’s so long ago—Reynard felt hope.