Holly lifted her eyebrows. “They’re kissing cousins to genie bottles. Sorcerers use them. Y’know, the whole make-the-demon-do-your-bidding shtick.”
“How interesting.” Caravelli looked like he was getting ideas.
Mac grimaced. “What kind of protection does a demon have from getting sucked into one? I don’t suppose they have, like, safety latches on the inside?”
The drinks came, Joe setting out little napkins before placing the glasses on the table.
“Do you think there’s a box with your name on it?” Caravelli asked, his hostile stare veering to the waiter for a moment.
“Don’t sound so hopeful.” Mac picked up his brew, wiping the condensation from the label. He didn’t really want another beer. He was feeling worse as the evening progressed. “There’s a case I’m working.”
Holly blinked. “You’ve gone private eye?”
“Yeah, right. Every ex-cop’s dream job. Nah, this is per sonal. There’s that vampire chick in the Castle—the one I was telling you about—who is trying to rescue an incubus from the guardsmen who kidnapped him. She has an in with a mad sorcerer who might be able to help me with my demon problem. Did I just say that?”
Caravelli took a long swallow of the wine, then set the glass down, looking almost amused. “It took six hundred years, but I think just now I finally heard everything.”
The piano player started another tune, the old one about a wonderful life.
Holly squeezed the lime perched on the edge of her mineral water. “It won’t be as hard to find out something about the boxes. I think there’s even stuff in a language I can read.”
Mac toasted her with his bottle. “I’d appreciate that. If the guardsman trapped the incubus in a box, I’d rather play it safe. I’m not eager to end up on somebody’s shelf.”
“So you’re really working a case?” Caravelli said, sounding skeptical. “Inside the Castle?”
Holly gave him an exasperated look, but held her tongue. There was a lot of fondness mixed with her frus- tration, and it made Mac smile.
He met the vampire’s eyes. “Yeah, well, crime happens everywhere. I believe in keeping order as much as you do.”
Caravelli picked up his wine. “Then why aren’t you in the Castle doing your job?”
“And when you have them?”
“I’ll work the case. Just because I’m part hellspawn, that doesn’t make me a bad person.”
“Strange as it may seem, I might be starting to believe you. Just starting, mind you.”
People had been coming and going, the swinging doors letting in blasts of cool night air. This time, something compelled Mac to look up. A woman with dark blond hair walked toward them, dangling a motorcycle helmet in one hand.
All the male heads in the room turned, taking in the show. Just as quickly, they carefully looked away. She was a bad kind of dangerous.
She was tall and lean, dressed in dark jeans, dark jacket, heavy boots, and a long-sleeved T-shirt made of some elastic, sparkly fabric. The jacket was open and the shirt left nothing to the imagination. Neither did the hard lines around her mouth. She was ready for a fight.
Her gaze lit on Caravelli, then on Holly. Something crossed her face—disappointment, maybe, then specula- tion. Caravelli’s hand was resting on the table. It started to curl into a fist.
Caravelli shot him a glance and a slight shake of the head.
The woman draped an arm around Holly’s shoulder. “Hey, sis.”
Mac nearly fell off his chair.
Holly’s face went dark, then carefully blank. “Ashe. What brings you here?”
“I saw the T-Bird outside. Thought I’d come say hello.”
Ashe set the helmet in the middle of the table, claiming all the available space. No one spoke as she pulled up a chair between Holly and Mac. Alessandro stared into the bottom of his glass.
“Hi,” she said, turning to Mac. He got a better look at her face. Now he could see the family resemblance. She wasn’t bad-looking. If she smiled, she could be a beauty.
“Mac,” he said, offering a hand.
He thought he saw Caravelli smirk.
She took Mac’s hand in a grip meant to wrestle gators, then turned to the table in general. “Hope you don’t mind if I join you?”
Mac noticed she asked after she’d made herself at home.
“We’re having a quiet,
Ashe snorted. “You know how to make a girl feel welcome.”
Caravelli shrugged and Holly winced. Mac felt sorry for Holly. She was the one caught in the middle. He looked for a diversion.
“What do you ride?” he said, nodding at the helmet.
“Ducati Monster 1100S.”
“Nice. I’m more of a Harley man myself.”
She looked him up and down. “How many strokes is your engine?”
Unfazed, Mac gave Ashe his most charming smile. “Trust me, the ride’s smooth, and the mileage is great.”
She stretched, sinuous as a cat, the jacket falling open to show off anything the see-through shirt hadn’t already disclosed. “I’m just tire-kicking tonight, or I might take a test drive.”
Mac wasn’t sure he was flattered. He sure as hell wasn’t interested, but it kept the conversation on a lighter note.
“Any reason you’re here besides hello?” Holly asked, her tone cool.
“We got off on the wrong foot, Hol.” Ashe looked at her sister, who was finishing the mineral water. “Is it okay if we try again?”
“Of course,” Holly said, more cheerfully. “We can do that. Do you want to meet for lunch tomorrow?”
“What’s wrong with here and now?”
“I was in the middle of something.” Holly pushed her glass away, looking weary.
Ashe’s fingers twitched, as if she’d been stung. “I’m family.”
A flash of temper lit up Holly’s face. “The world doesn’t stop because you decided to drop by and stake my boyfriend.”
Caravelli sat forward, his gaze on Ashe. “Perhaps it’s time to go.”
“You stay out of this, fang-boy.” Ashe turned on the vampire, and Mac saw the face of a predator every bit as dangerous as Caravelli.
“She wants to stake me,” Caravelli said, his tone mocking. “I tremble.”
Ashe leaned across the table, all but snarling at the vampire. “Sure, I want to. Why wouldn’t I? Swear to me you’ve never, ever bitten her,” she grated out, her voice barely audible above the noise of the other patrons.
“Ashe!” Holly snapped.
Caravelli sat like stone, his expression saying that he was guilty as charged.
Ashe gave a cold smile. “Thought so.”
She slowly got to her feet and picked up her helmet. Caravelli stood, tracking her every move. Her body said more of rage than any curse. Then she turned to Mac, her expression venomous. “And where do you fit in?”
Mac took in the violence in her eyes. Carefully, he resurrected the charming smile. “I’m a nice, quiet guy, but if I find out you’re going all Van Helsing on my friends, then I’m your worst nightmare.”
Ashe gave a lopsided smile. “I’ll look forward to it.” She turned, recoiling when she nearly bumped into
