Unknown - Scorched

Mac had an urge to laugh. He had a nice dining room. He was a first-class cook with a drawerful of gourmet recipes. Yet, here he was, sharing a greasy takeout meal in his dirty kitchen with a hellhound—and loving the fact that he had a guest.

“I’ve got beer,” he said. “That’s about it.”

Lore looked up from wrestling the top off a Styrofoam container of rice. “That’s okay. I’m happy with water.”

Mac settled himself and picked up a serving spoon. Almond chicken. Mm.

Mac observed as Lore followed his example. The hound watched every move Mac made, mimicking until he caught on to the routine of dishing and eating and what to do with the soy sauce. He’s not had takeout before. But he’s picking it up damned quick.

And apparently enjoying it. Lore had a good appetite. Mac noticed his own hunger was calming down as he ate, a normal, healthy need for food being restored. That was a relief.

Remembering his manners, Mac got up and filled glasses with water. “So, this is great but, uh, what brings you here?” He set a glass in front of Lore.

“I thought if your stomach was full, you would listen to what I need to say.”

“Okay.” That’s kind of embarrassing.

“I want to explain to you about the hounds.”

“Okay.” Mac tore off some paper towels to use as napkins, and sat back down.

“Of all the species, we are the only ones to age and die, mate and have families within the Castle walls. The love of our pack gives us the strength to survive, but it also makes us vulnerable. When we escaped a year ago, we had to leave many of our number behind.”

Mac put down his fork, giving Lore his full attention.

The hound looked up, examining Mac all over again from head to toe and gauging his reaction. “As I said before, now that I am free, I can use magic to come and go from the Castle. I smuggle goods to buy back those of my people who have been captured for slaves.”

“What?” Then Mac connected the dots, veering around the fact that what Lore did was insanely dangerous on many levels. “Is that why the hounds aren’t on guard duty half the time? You’re running your operation at the same time you’re supposed to be guarding the Castle door?”

“Yes.”

Mac just shook his head, the security-minded cop in him scandalized in about six different ways, but he was beginning to see a bigger picture.

Lore went on. “The Vampire Caravelli has also hired wolves for guard duty. Many have helped us, but some have complained to their leaders. They do not agree with releasing more prisoners from the Castle. Soon, the council will meet, and it will punish me. I need your help.”

“My help?” Mac said.

“I need an advocate with the council of supernatural leaders.”

Mac busied himself with more fried rice. He needed a moment to think. “I’m no lawyer. Plus, the council hates me. I was a bad guy, remember?”

Lore leaned forward, his body language saying now that he had come to the point he wanted to make. “The hellhounds rank very low among the supernatural species. We survive however we can by staying humble, keeping to ourselves. We have not made powerful friends.”

That was true.

“So I brought Chinese food. You need to help.”

So Mac’s estimated street price was an extra-large order of fast food. Good to know. “Why me?”

“You are—blessed. The gods have appointed you. But you don’t want to hear that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then you must find your own reasons.”

“And if the task is mine, I’ll already know what those are,” Mac said, remembering Lore’s line from their earlier conversation.

“Exactly.” The hellhound looked down at his plate. “Convince the council to give me permission to set my people free. And there are others trapped there, too, not just us. In times when all magic was considered evil, anyone with power was shut up in there—even beasts and birds. The Castle holds many who shouldn’t be imprisoned.”

Like Constance.

“You must make those in power understand that the Castle is the responsibility of all the paranormal species. We will only survive in a human world if we work together. That is why I sit and eat with you. Someone must begin bringing us together. It may as well start with me.”

Mac had a vision of Count Dracula leading a rousing chorus of “We Shall Overcome.”

The hound stopped, looking exhausted by the effort of speaking for so long. Shadows from the overhead light showed the strong bones in his face. “Will you help me?”

How the heck he was going to pull this one off? But the job needed doing, and Mac couldn’t think of anyone else who’d seen the side of the Castle he had—the part with innocent people who would like nothing better than to lead ordinary lives. Someone had to speak for the everyday main-street monsters, and he’d been hardwired to help folks in need.

“Sure.”

October 6, 11:00 p.m. The Castle

Ashe crept down yet another Castle corridor, a stake clutched in one hand, her boot knife in the other. Not nearly weapons enough, but she’d run out of bullets a thousand susurrating caverns ago.

She’d never seen anything like it—corridor after corridor, each gaping entrance like the last. Magic hung like a fog, sending the tattered remains of her witch-born senses into dust devils. When the spell she’d cast as a teenager blew up in her face, Ashe had lost the ability to manipulate energy—but she could feel power. Here, it pounded in her head like a migraine.

The flickering torches didn’t help. For a while they’d seemed kind of funky, like being sucked into a bad horror film. Now she’d had more than enough of the mood lighting, and—ugh!—the Goddess-knew-what creatures she’d blown to smithereens. Four of them, so far. Ashe had seen a lot of monsters in her day, and she wasn’t sure these even had a species—just bad tempers and worse breath.

She’d needed her gun and her hand-to-hand fighting skills to get rid of them. Tough beggars, with tusks. She’d pulled a muscle in the back of one knee.

It was a good fight, though. She’d liked that part. The rush never got old.

Needing to rest a moment, Ashe stopped at a corner. Every route away from this spot looked the same. She was lost. Time and direction had lost meaning back when ... well, she had no idea. How long did it take to get chased away from the door, bag your pursuers, and then figure out you were completely turned around? But after that, time had passed. How much, she couldn’t say. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, but she was getting incredibly tired.

How on earth was she going to find her way out?

I’ll get out. I always land on my feet.

And when I get out, I’m going to kill Caravelll for sure.

When I get out.

Doubt sloshed in her stomach like bad plonk. She started to think about her daughter and stopped. Eden was her joy and her weakness, and she couldn’t afford either right then. Now was time for the hard-assed attitude, because that would get her home.

This shouldn’t be happening. I’m a good person. I kill monsters to make the world a better place. It’s a valuable job.

She savagely clung to her last shreds of calm. Raiding a house full of bad guys was so different. For one thing, there were doors. Where the hell is that door?

Something howled. Ashe jolted in fright. The sound echoed, pounding off the walls with ululations of such poignant despair that her knees turned to water. The cry rang in the stones, wave after wave, the aftershocks humming even when the sound itself had died away.

She hauled in her breath, sweat trickling down her ribs. Then she heard the scrape of nails on stone, the drag-flop of enormous paws, and panting like the bellows of hell’s own blacksmith. Worse, there was wet, thick snuffling.