Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

Lore sat very still. Ashe felt queasy with the tension in the room. She preferred fighting to info gathering, hands down. Hitting someone over the head was easier than convincing them to cooperate.

Reynard went on, his face grim. “We think this thief may be a demon.”

“The same one who owned the bookstore that burned down yesterday,” Ashe broke in. “Y’know, the one Holly asked your hounds to guard so no humans blundered inside? We think we’re dealing with a collector demon.”

Lore looked confused. “Then if you know who the demon is, why are you asking me?”

“Because the store burned down, and now we don’t know where he’s gone. If we know who he hangs out with, or if he’s on the market for more stuff, or, well, whatever the rumor mill can tell us, we might be able to track him down again.”

Lore nodded, confusion fading to thoughtfulness. “Such as . . . perhaps he is pursued by a vampire?”

“Are you serious?” Ashe stiffened. Bingo!

“Hellhounds cannot lie. That is our nature, as you well know.” The annoyance was back.

Reynard sat forward. “Tell us. Please.”

“There’s not much to tell, but the incident was unusual.” Lore got up, put his cup on the counter, and turned. “I worked here late last night. Around midnight a vampire knocked on my door. He asked the same questions that you are.”

“Goddess,” Ashe breathed. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know. He was a stranger. He was powerful. Tall, red-haired. Very, very old. I smelled anger on him. He, too, had heard that the hounds knew about trade in stolen goods. By the questions he asked, I am certain he is hunting for the same thief.”

“Belenos.” Ashe stood up, too wired to sit still. “He’s the King of the freaking East.”

Lore’s brows drew together. “I wondered. There were others with him, but they stayed in the shadows outside. He’s traveling with a guard.”

“Did he do more than ask questions?” Ashe asked.

“Wait here a moment.” Lore started across the warehouse at a jog-trot, heading for a small office stuck in the corner.

Reynard rose and set his cup on the counter. It was half-empty. He held the handle a moment before letting his fingers slip away, as if reluctant to let it go. “That tasted good.”

He’s dying. She knew that, but it hit her with a gut punch all over again. Ashe tried to keep her eyes steady as she searched his face. “You don’t look upset.”

“It’s hard to explain what it’s like to really taste something after hundreds of years.” He gripped the counter a moment.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ashe said tentatively.

“Of course.” He turned to face her.

Like the hellhounds, he was a crappy liar.

Oh, Goddess. Guilt made her turn away, cursing under her breath. “I should have a plan of action by now, and I’m not sure where to go next. I thought Lore would be more help.”

“But he has been. We know our visiting vampires may lead us to the demon’s door. If we find one, we’ll find the other.”

“I’ve got to come up with something.” She paced a few steps, digging deep to find the clinical calm that had taken her through so many hunting missions. “This is taking too long.”

But she didn’t have time to think further. Lore was returning, a pink object in his hand. He stopped, an unhappy look on his face. “The vampire king left this. He said others would come asking about the collector, and they would know what this meant.”

Lore held out a pink stuffed rabbit. “Do you understand this?”

Reynard stiffened. “It’s a threat.”

Lore looked flummoxed. “A rabbit?”

Ashe took the plush toy. It looked expensive. Reynard turned over the gift tag tied to its paw.

“ ‘For Eden, hugs and kisses,’ ” he read aloud.

Ashe felt her heart freeze. “Goddess, I’ve got to get to my daughter.”

Sunday, April 5, 6:00 p.m.

101.5 FM

“This is Oscar Ottwell at CSUP, coming to you from the University of Fairview. We’re interrupting regular programming with a request to our listeners to be on the lookout for a lost little girl. Eden Carver is ten years old, with brown eyes and brown curly hair. She is wearing blue jeans, a long-sleeved pink T-shirt, and is probably wearing a blue jacket. She was last seen at around noon at her aunt’s home in the Shoreline neighborhood not far from St. Andrew’s Cemetery. If you see Eden, please call the station immediately at 555-CSUP. Volunteer searchers are also requested.”

Miru-kai moved silently through the Castle, freed to roam the prison once more. Mac had finally run out of questions and let him go. Or, more precisely, Miru-kai had chosen to run out of answers. He had given enough good information to buy himself out of that cell.

Mac wasn’t fully satisfied, but couldn’t afford any more time to spend on the prince’s evasions. Belenos with a key to the Castle presented a bigger threat.

A fortunate turn of events, because Miru-kai had to find the vampire first. Today he was scheduled to collect his payment from Belenos. Just because the thief had turned out to be a despicable double-crosser, that didn’t mean the vampire wouldn’t keep his part of the bargain. No one broke a deal with the fey. That carried with it an automatic curse no amount of time or distance could cure.

It was the prince who had buyer’s remorse. This was a bargain he should never have made. And yet the gem Belenos offered had been too much for even his jaded soul to resist. Over time, the stone had been given various silly names: the Stone of Darkness, the Treasure of Jadai, Vathar’s Bane. It was a fey treasure, and though other species knew it was potent, few even knew what it did. How Belenos had gotten his cold, clammy hands on it was anybody’s guess.

The gem solved a fundamental problem for the prince. No fey could leave the Castle, even with a portal standing wide open. The wizards who built the prison had put extra safeguards in place for those, like Miru- kai, who had the power of invisibility. If they tried to walk out, a wall of power sent them hurling backward like a ball slammed with a racket. That hurt. A lot.

The gem, in the hands of a powerful fey like Miru-kai, meant freedom at last. He had made the pact with Belenos without a moment’s hesitation. He wanted that stone!

But so much had gone wrong.

He had promised delivery of an urn. Not an urn with a soul in it. Again, wording was everything in these deals.

Miru-kai had told the demon very specifically to look for Bran’s urn—the same empty urn Miru- kai had picked up by mistake. Ironic? Definitely.

The idiot demon had stolen Reynard’s instead—probably grabbed the closest pot to the door in his bumbling haste. But Miru- kai could hardly make him take it back and fetch another, could he? He’d found out about the mistake too late to cover his tracks. The pattern mocked him.

So he had decided to tell Reynard about the theft. Make the game a little more fair. That was the fey thing to do. And, of course, by then he had discovered it was necessary to get an urn for himself—for Simeon. The fact that Reynard’s soul was at stake made it easy to get into the vault.

That was the only thing that had gone right.

First, Miru-kai had picked up the wrong urn.

Then Simeon had died days before Miru-kai could rescue them from this hole.

And now, by picking up bits and pieces of information from Mac’s questioning, Miru- kai understood what Belenos meant to do with the urn. What a disaster!

So much for making a hasty bargain in his desire to leave the Castle. A fey child would have known enough to ask more questions before sealing the deal. Carelessness like that was unforgiveable in a prince—in him! A warlord! A sorcerer! The great Miru-kai!