Unknown - Scorched

“Earlier this evening, we had special guest Dr. Gaylen Hooper discussing the transition between species. But some supernatural talents are learned—and that’s what we’re going to talk about now. Please welcome our next guest, John Jameson of the Wizard’s Guild. Hello, John.”

“Hello, Errata, and a big wizarding hello to the folks at home.”

“So, first of all, let’s address the first FAQ I see listed on your Web site. What is the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer?”

“Well, first of all, let me say these are equal opportunity talents. Any species can be either a wizard or a sorcerer, although natural ability does play a role.”

“How do you mean, John?”

“Some pupils are gifted, just the way some folks naturally take to playing the piano. But back to your original question, Errata. The big difference between wizardry and sorcery is that sorcerers rely on ritual and study. They’re all about the big books and summoning demons. Wizards spe cialize in the mix of magic and technology—y’know, data magic. We’ve blown open the world of online gaming.”

“No summoning demons?”

“Most of us live in apartments. There’s the damage deposit to consider.”

Mac could have stopped Connie from running back to the Castle. Alessandro could have stopped her. Or so they told themselves. After one look at her face, they both saw there was no point in trying.

Mac had heard that Turning ramped up a person’s natural aggression. That was expressing itself in Connie’s maternal instinct. Goodbye, milkmaid; hello, mama bear. He approved, even though his inner caveman was feeling a little more cautious.

They took the T-Bird to the Castle, parking in front of the Empire Hotel. Connie was fascinated with the car, and even more fascinated with how fast it could go. Mac could see a small fortune in speeding tickets somewhere in her future. He was going to be keeping a close eye on the keys to his Mustang.

Mac couldn’t dust and carry two people with him, so they went through the door in the conventional fashion, the hellhounds looking on curiously but obeying Caravelli’s order to let them pass.

After coming and going so many times without a problem, they forgot to be watchful.

“Patrol!” Connie whispered, her head whipping around.

Mac grabbed her shoulders, his gaze following hers. The flash of torchlight on a patch of armor gave the guardsman away.

“Go!” said Caravelli, leaping upward, clinging to the stones of the wall. Spider-swift, he crept upward, vanishing in the murk of darkness above.

Creepy.

Mac dusted, taking Connie with him. That was too close.

As soon as he materialized in Connie’s secret room, adrenaline surged through Mac. He let Connie go, almost pushing her away as demon heat bathed his limbs with a blast of fright and anger. He felt the flush creep up his neck, hotter than ever before.

The body-heat thing was getting out of control. Maybe he would have to start carrying one of those little battery-operated fans. Bursting into a fireball would definitely be a showstopper.

But not this show. Mac was a bit-player in this scene. The moment he released Connie, she flew across the room to Sylvius. Viktor got to his feet with a whuff.

“You’re safe!” she said, falling on to the sofa beside her son.

“Of course I am.” Sylvius stared at Connie, looking at her curiously. Then nodded slowly. “You’ve done it. You’ve changed. I wondered if you would.”

“It was an accident.” The words came out sheepishly.

“No, this was meant to be.”

Viktor woofed again, this time turning to Mac and snuffling wetly at his jacket. The beast was enormous, as high as Mac’s chest, but something in him reminded him of his old black lab, although the lab didn’t smell as bad. He rubbed Viktor’s ears, anyway, earning a tail wag.

The simple act calmed Mac’s demon. He felt his heart slowing, his skin returning to its usual temperature. The conversation on the sofa faded into the background.

Mac missed his old dog. As if reading his thoughts, Viktor slurped his face.

I don’t miss that part.

There was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” Mac demanded.

Viktor shuffled to the door, sniffing at the crack. “Caravelli.”

Mac shoulder-checked the beast out of the way and let the vampire in, drawing back the heavy bolts that secured the thick door and giving the word that released the wards Lore had set.

“What the hell is that?” Caravelli asked, glancing at Vik tor as he stepped inside. The werebeast was doing some sort of a doggy dance, rising up on his back feet every few steps.

“Viktor! Down!” Mac ordered.

Viktor bounced happily, ignoring him.

Mac gave a two-fingered whistle. Viktor froze. Mac pointed to the floor. Viktor lay down.

“Good boy,” Mac said, patting the huge werebeast’s head. It felt vaguely ridiculous. There was a person inside there somewhere.

“Now that we have the livestock under control,” Caravelli said dryly, “there are some things I need to discuss with Constance since she’s going to be away from her sire for the first time.”

Viktor looked at the door and whined.

“He wants a walk,” Sylvius said. “So do I.”

Mac thought about the patrol and weighed the odds of any guardsmen showing up in this corner of the Castle, but Sylvius’s expression said he needed to talk. “Come on then,” Mac said. “We’ll leave them to Vampires 101.”

He had no intention of going far. Viktor could probably hold his own or at least run away, but the kid didn’t look like a fighter. Plus, Connie would have his head if anything happened to her son.

Sylvius sighed when they closed the door to the room behind them. Viktor loped ahead, shaking a cloud of hair from his ragged coat.

“I can’t stay shut up in there forever.” Sylvius started walking, his head down. “I need freedom to fly.”

“You could always leave. We’ll find a place for Viktor. You could talk Connie into going outside the Castle, and then you’d all be safe.”

“She won’t go without me, will she?”

“No.” Mac tried to keep the word neutral, not to lay the guilt on too thick. “This is all she knows. Everyone she loves is here. Including you. Especially you.”

“Ah.” Sylvius stopped and turned to look at Mac. “I wish I could make it easier instead of harder.”

They’d reached the junction with the next corridor, the limit of how far Mac intended to wander. The torchlight shone behind the incubus, showing the network of fine veins running through the skin of his wings. Mac studied him for a moment, taking in once more the long silver hair and black eyes. Behind all that strangeness was the face of a young man.

He focused on that, wishing for common ground. “If you don’t leave, I’m not sure how else to help you.”

Mac could make him leave. In fact, if Sylvius, Connie, and Viktor were still in the Castle by the time the council had met, he would be sorely tempted. But he didn’t want to force the issue quite yet. He wanted it to be their choice.

Sylvius folded his arms, ducking his head. “If I’m what’s left of the Avatar, I can’t risk leaving. As I said before, what if I’m the last thing that’s keeping the Castle standing? What if I walk out, and it all turns to dust?”

“I don’t believe that. It sounds crazy.”

“Crazy is Atreus making my mother out of sunbeams and then killing her.”

“Your mother died giving birth to you,” Mac said gently. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Guilt has made Atreus go mad. That’s as good as a confession.”

“Could the decline of the Castle be part of the reason he’s sick?”