Unknown - Scorched

Holly’s expression was sad. “You’re not all evil.”

“Not as long as I have options.”

Alessandro reached down, rubbing away a stray tear from her chin. He was so grateful for her. She made him, if not human, much less of a monster. “You’re sure you don’t want me to handle your sister?”

“No, I’m sure Mac will help, and Ashe doesn’t have a beef with him. It’ll be easier this way.”

“But...”

“I’m right about this.”

Alessandro wasn’t so sure. On the positive side, if Ashe and Mac kill each other, that’s two of my problems solved. But he didn’t mean it.

He should have been happy to wash his hands of an annoying situation. He should have liked the blade-clean logic of two dangerous individuals annihilating each other. He didn’t.

He wanted it all to work out, for everyone’s sake. Bloodshed wasn’t the answer.

Novel thought, for a vampire.

Maybe Mac isn’t the only one changing.

Mac ran through the corridors of the Castle at an easy, gliding pace, sword drawn. Dusting through the maze was faster, but that only worked if he knew where he was going. Connie had given him some useful information, but to conduct a search he needed solid contact with his surroundings.

He’d left Connie asleep. After she’d told him what she knew about the guardsmen’s lair, they’d made love again. Twice.

It had sated them both and exhausted her, sending her into a deep, comalike slumber. He’d held Connie for a long time, studying the soft curves of her face and body. There was no inch of her skin that he hadn’t touched that night, and he knew without doubt he would touch, taste, and claim it again.

His inner caveman beat his chest and roared with jubilation. Today it was good to be Mac the Barbarian.

He stopped at a crossing of corridors. The wavering torchlight showed one hallway curved away to the right. To the left, the stonework had crumbled like a giant fist had punched through the wall. A vast cavern loomed beyond.

Connie had mentioned this place. He hopped up the rubble, using the fallen stones as a stairway to the gaping hole a dozen feet above. The section of missing wall was more than man-height, the thickness of the stones uneven and treacherous. He balanced there, looking into the darkness. A hot, sour wind seemed to rise from below, flowing up the chimneylike cavern. His hair floated away from his face, caught by the breeze. There were fires far, far below, flickering like the stars of an upside-down sky. They called to him, blinking like mysterious eyes. No one, Connie’d said, had ever ventured into those depths.

Maybe he would someday, just to find out what or who lived there. Maybe dragons? A tingle of excitement rippled through him. That would be cool.

He could almost feel the Castle agree. It wanted to be explored. Everything about it spoke of neglect, but who was to say it had to be that way?

Connie had told him Reynard’s tales of collapsing corridors and disappearing rooms. Was there a specific cause, Mac wondered, or was the magic that made the place simply winding down? Were the rumors true at all? He knew how fast a lie could travel around a lockup. Who was to say the Castle was any different?

Still, it was a good reminder to stay alert.

Mac jumped down, landing easily, and kept on walking, following the left-hand corridor. Truth be told, he was enjoying this new body’s stamina. The more he used it, the better it felt. Plus, it seemed to be settling down. His clothes were too tight again, but the change was not as dramatic as before.

Just as well. There was a limit to how much size was actually useful.

He started to run, covering ground in a relaxed lope. The punched-out-wall phenomenon repeated itself a few more times, and then the wall between him and the cavern gave up altogether. Mac ran for about another half hour, barely breathing hard.

In the distance, he could hear the sound of voices. Probably one of the settlements that drifted around the Castle, moving as the warlords claimed and lost territory, established their courts and then surrendered to rivals. Politics in the Castle was an endless chess game, one Mac had been too insignificant to play. Not that he’d wanted to. He’d just wanted out.

The noise grew more distinct, coming from his left across a vast, wild space of crumbled granite. Curiosity tempted him to look. He climbed up an easy slope of rock, pushing higher and higher until he could see the source of the babble.

Not a town, but an encampment. Campfires glimmered, backlighting figures who moved through a forest of tents. Most inhabitants of the Castle lived in its rooms, but a few preferred the open places, living like nomads. By their size and the way they moved, these were werecats. Lions or one of the more exotic species.

Cats tended to roam on the fringes of the main populations, which meant the town proper would be just beyond what he could see. And it can stay there. He’d flown beneath the radar so far. He meant to keep things that way. If this Prince Miru-kai was setting up shop in the area, he had to be careful not to attract attention.

So far he hadn’t run into any other wandering goblins or changelings. The area leading from the Summer Room was as deserted and secret as Connie had claimed. Still, he worried about leaving her alone. He added home security to his mental to-do list. Maybe once she had her son back, she would want to leave the Castle altogether.

Mac resumed his course. Eventually, the Castle grew darker, the torches farther apart, the slope in the floor descending. At the same time, across the floor of the cavern to his right, he saw a honeycomb of caves emerge from the black rock. Scatters of torches appeared here and there, showing signs of habitation.

Mac slowed to a walk. The air was warmer here, drying the light sweat on his body. There were no corridors to his left now, and the path he was on narrowed to a mere walkway, an iron rail guarding against the sheer drop into the cavern. The pit was still deep, but he could see the cavern.

Mac allowed himself a wolfish grin. He’d found their headquarters, or at least their clubhouse. The large area directly below was scattered with tables and benches where guards lounged, read, diced, or talked. Rooms opened onto the area, guards coming and going. One in the far corner looked larger and had more traffic, as if it served an official purpose.

Mac finished scanning the scene below, and began examining the rocky expanse higher up. Above the rooms, caves dotted the raw stone face of the wall. Some had bars or gates. Were those cages? Storerooms? From where he was, it was impossible to tell, but either explanation would make sense. Now that he looked closely, networks of open stairways were chipped into the rock, zigzagging up from the floor.

And that was as much as he was going to find out from his present vantage point. He had to get closer.

Mac picked an empty-looking cave that overlooked the busy room below. He took a deep breath and melted to dust, flowing through the shadows and down, down to land in the heart of the enemy’s home.

What have I done? Constance wondered.

It was a simple question. There should have been an easy answer, but like the lady in the song, her demon lover had carried her away with fine promises. The difference was, Mac used a bed rather than a ship.

When they reached the shore again On the far side of the sea, Then she spied his cloven hoof And wept most plaintively. “What is that mountain yon,” she cried, “With fire and ice and snow?”

“It is the peaks of hell,” he cried, “Where you and I must go.”

Mac, however, didn’t seem the seafaring type, and he definitely didn’t have cloven hooves. They were already in hell. The only question that remained was whether he was a trickster.