Unknown - Scorched

Holly started to draw a cat eating the bat.

Just enough council members had shown up for a quorum. There were ten present, including Holly, Caravelli, and Errata. The rest were vamps and werewolves. The fey, as usual, hadn’t bothered to show. Lore was late, which ticked Mac off. The council meeting had originally been for his benefit.

One of the vamps looked at her watch. Mac had already forgotten her name.

The meeting was going nowhere.

Dr. Perry Baker, university computer prof and the youngest of the wolves, spoke into the sudden quiet. “Look. I agree with Errata. If we know there are people who should leave the Castle, we can’t just blow them off. They’re our people. They’re supernaturals, like us.”

“Maybe these are your people,” de Winter drawled. “They aren’t mine. Not to mention the fact that it’s— hello!—a prison, which means bad people are inside. Remember Geneva?”

“De Winter,” Caravelli growled. He didn’t say anything else, but the other vampire folded his arms and shut up.

“Let me cut to the chase,” Mac said. “The hounds have an extensive information network inside the Castle. Lore told me earlier today that he received word of a group of about forty hellhounds who’ve escaped from an area that just collapsed. They’re working their way toward the door. They’re moving slowly because they’ve got women and children in the pack, and the risk of capture is high.”

“Oh,” said Errata. “Children.”

“So we go get them,” said Perry Baker. “Any questions?”

“Is there anyone else we can identify immediately for rescue?” asked Errata.

“Just a moment,” said a vampire who had been silent so far. He had been older when he Turned, with the exquisite manners and handsome face of an old-fashioned film star.

Mac turned to Holly, widening his eyes. She scribbled on her notepad, Big Important Vamp. Beaumont clan. His name is Antoine.

Everyone turned, as if this guy was worth listening to. He spread his hands a little, an orator’s gesture. “We are under the emotional pull of a sad story, and that is making us throw out all our previous policy regarding the Castle. If we begin to rescue people, where do we draw the line?”

“The vampires have opposed every rescue attempt!” Errata objected. “Every time this comes up, Antoine, you block us!”

Antoine leaned forward, eyes flashing. “Mind your tongue, little cat. The wolves have always agreed with us.”

“What?” Perry Baker rose from his seat. “All I’ve ever said is that we’d better know what we’re doing before we throw open that door!”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Errata snarled.

This is going south. “Silence!” Mac shouted, then used his two-finger whistle.

All heads, fangs out and eyes aglow, turned to glower at him. A shudder of demon heat went up his spine.

Mac cleared his throat, forcing himself to calm down. “Antoine is right. We need to be clear about what we’re doing. The hellhounds have to be our immediate goal. Because some of the inmates are dangerous, and we don’t know for sure which ones those are, we can’t just rush in there with big hearts and no brains. It sounds cruel, but I more than anybody know the consequences when someone like Geneva gets loose.”

Antoine nodded, his expression relieved.

Errata sat down. The others followed her example. “Okay,” she said.

“At the same time,” Mac added, “we need to fix the Avatar. In some ways that’s the bigger problem.”

“I don’t really understand this business about the Avatar,” said Perry. “How do the guardsmen think they’re going to put it back by killing its child?”

Holly pulled a folder out of her backpack and opened it. “I found a passage in a book that talks about the ritual for freeing the spirit from the body. It’s called disincorporation.”

“Sounds like murder to me,” the werecougar replied tightly.

Mac frowned, growing hot with the fierce, dry heat of his demon. They’re talking about Sylvius. Anger sucked at him, leaving an ashy taste on his tongue. He grabbed his water glass, gulping down the cool liquid. Where he gripped the glass, the condensation on its side fizzled in a puff of steam.

Caravelli gave him a curious look. Mac shrugged. At least I’m not kidding when I say I’m hot stuff.

“This ritual is supposed to save the Castle from collapsing?” Antoine asked, sounding subdued.

“That’s the theory,” Holly answered.

Perry looked confused. “Wouldn’t the energy draw have to be huge in order to re-create a spirit form like the Avatar?”

“You mean it would require several deaths?” Mac asked darkly.

“Careful what you say,” said Holly quickly. “These spells have a way of listening.” Mac shut his mouth.

“The passage describes a few specific points,” Holly said.

“The body is suspended from a large structure. This is going to take time to set up and they’ll need a big space to do it in. There’s also a body of water nearby, like a lake or a pond, that will be magically set on fire.”

Mac scribbled the details on his notepad as Holly spoke. There was only one pond he knew of in the Castle—the place with the dark pool—and that gave him the major creeps. He could see doing a sacrifice there.

De Winter sighed. “Well, I don’t see the benefit of involving ourselves in this Avatar business. What’s it got to do with Fairview?”

The notepad burst into flame. Mac swore, slapping his hand down on the flames. Caravelli jumped back, throwing his water on the fire before it spread.

All the vampires’in the room inched away from Mac. Fire was one of the few things that could hurt them. Mac just sat there, gaping at the drowning flames. What the frigging hell was that?

Perry pulled a pen from his pocket and reached across the table, stirring the soggy mess of wet ash until the last cinders were out. “So, have you tried antacids?” He looked over the rims of his wire-framed glasses. “I heard you got over the soul-eating thing, but how long have you been a fire demon?”

“Can we stay on topic?” said de Winter. “Flaming like that is just rude.”

Before Mac could struggle through another thought, the boardroom door opened. Lore looked inside, as if uncertain he had the right room.

“Where the hell were you?” Mac demanded.

The hound entered, followed by Connie and Viktor.

Everything else forgotten, Mac jumped to his feet. Why is she here? She looks scared. Where’s the kid?

She kept one hand on Viktor’s head while he sniffed loudly, taking in the scents of the various creatures in the room. Connie looked ragged.

Caravelli tensed. “Constance, what happened? Are you all right?”

“She came to Mac’s condo as I was leaving to join you,” Lore said. “She has bad news. We have less time than we thought.”

“None,” Connie said, her voice small but firm. She looked around the room, meeting the glances of everyone in it. “The guardsmen have mutinied against their captain.”

Her gaze drifted to meet Mac’s. They stood on opposite sides of the room, but the intimacy of her look put them side by side. “They took Atreus, the only sorcerer who had the strength to oppose them.”

How the hell did they do that? Mac wondered.

“And they took Sylvius.”

Mac caught his breath. So that’s why she’s here.

“The sacrifice boy?” de Winter asked.

She closed her mouth for a moment. Mac caught the quick tremor of her chin. She was fighting back tears. “Yes.”

God, she’s being brave.

Errata swore. “That’s it. We have to get him, and we have to get those hounds.”