Scorched

community outside your reach.”

On first hearing, it sounded like a small price to pay. Mac looked out over the cavernous gloom, the small figures below lit by the fire from the lake. It was a macabre scene, like something from a medieval painting of hell.

Then he felt the Castle’s words like lights going out in his heart, one by one. No supernatural community meant no Holly. No Caravelli, or Lore, or Sylvius. He could have his old life, but it would be without those friends who had been there for him, demon or not. Worst and most terrible: No Connie. He would be doomed to live without her love.

Mac felt his limbs growing cold. Was that death, or just sadness?

“Does a human life not please you?” asked the Avatar. “Is there a door number two? One where I get to be a white hat?”

She sat back, turning the bracelets around and around her wrists. The long, pale hair fell over her face, and she was silent for so long Mac thought she had lost interest in him.

Mac slouched against the balcony rail, looking out over the cavern. When the Avatar spoke, he jumped. His thoughts had wandered away—down to Connie, and Holly, and all those who had fought beside him that day.

“Then would you serve me?” she asked. “You were a guardsman in your old life.”

“I dunno. Doesn’t sound like your guards are all that happy.”

“They fell into despair because I was gone. In truth, it was my absence that killed them. Not your sword or Atreus’s mad spell of fire.”

Mac turned to face her. She sat, looking up at him. Her expression was earnest.

“I want to make amends.” She lifted a hand, and let it fall with a jingle. “The few guards that remain are good men, but they’re lost. They need someone to lead them. Someone stronger than they are, like a demon.”

Mac’s heart sank. “Demons destroy. We’ve been down that road already.”

“I’ll make you the demon with the badge that helps people.”

“That makes no sense.” He could feel despair seeping into him, cold and gray.

“Yes, it does. It was as a demon that you looked after Constance, and loved her, and gave her the strength to grow into her own power. She’s her own woman now, servant to no one. You rescued her son, twice. You carried Reynard to safety. You put the events in motion that saved Lore’s people. You have high ideals, and the demon gave you the physical strength to live up to your own standards. The creatures of the Castle need human compassion, but in a form that matches their own.”

“I surrendered to the fire demon. I slaughtered your men because I couldn’t control it. Why would those guardsmen who are left follow me?”

“They will know you by how you lead them. You know how such men work far better than I do. You’re one of them.”

“I think they’ll complain if I burn them to crispy critters.”

“I will give you mastery over your demon nature. It is something you would have developed in time, anyway. It takes practice to harness your powers. Isn’t that what you told Constance?”

“Then I get some control on the heat thing?”

“Of course.”

Mac rallied, his spirits rising despite himself. “And none of this no-eating crap. I keep my appetites, thank you very much. In fact, you should have more repression-free zones like the Summer Room. It’s healthier that way for everybody. Maybe if people get to let off steam now and again, they’ll stop hunting the incubi like truffles.”

The Avatar blinked, looking taken aback. “That would be up to you.”

Mac froze. “Up to me?”

She waved a hand, taking in the entire cavern. “I must regenerate rivers and forests, a sky and stars. That’s a lot to look after.” She shrugged. “I’ll have to leave a lot of the smaller details up to you.”

“You actually need me,” said Mac, surprise bubbling through him.

The Avatar nodded. “Yes, Conall Macmillan. And this time I’m asking your permission. Will you help me become the beautiful place I once was? Will you look after my people?”

Mac thought about Reynard and the guards, the warlords and the smugglers, and all the downtrodden of the Castle. It was more than an army of social service agencies could ever hope to clean up, and he was proposing to do it on his own.

“Hell, yes.” And then he laughed.

Cleaning up the street was exactly the kind of work that got Mac up in the morning. Besides, he wouldn’t be on his own. He had friends, and there were folks in Fairview who cared about what happened behind the Castle door. They’d proved that today.

Most of all, there was Connie. If ever there was a girl worth being resurrected for, she was the one.

“I’ll do it.”

The Avatar smiled, and it was like the sunrise. “Good.”

“Just a few more things before we shake hands...”

The Castle laughed, sounding very much like a lovely woman. “Of course there are. But just remember that the only thing that matters is the joy that gives you life.”

Chapter 29

Suddenly, Mac was standing in front of the Empire Hotel. From the looks of things, it was early evening, the street still full of cars and people. What am I doing here? It was an interesting choice of locations for his resurrection. He guessed the Castle had some fine-tuning issues, but whatever. For a newly restored Avatar, he supposed it could be worse.

What do I know? He was grateful to be alive, too grateful to even think about the alternatives—death, or eternity as a ghost. Crap. That was one mental road he refused to go down. Not until he had time for a proper mental breakdown.

Which was never.

Leaning against the wall, he looked around. People were walking by, talking on cell phones, holding hands, absorbed in their evening plans. Car radios. Conversations. The bleed of jazz from inside the pub. Fairview was noisy.

Mac had missed that. The Castle was so damned quiet. Lore had said something about hooking up TV and radio reception. He was going to have to talk to him about that.

Mac jogged around the corner to the alley. It was jammed with people. It looked like the word of the hellhound exodus had spread and every supernatural citizen in Fairview had shown up to gawk. Quite a few seemed to actually be helping. He recognized the waiter—what was his name? Joe?—from the pub. He was passing out coffee and pastries to the volunteers.

Mac slipped through the crowd to see what was happening at the door. Ashe Carver was sitting on the ground, Reynard’s head in her lap. Good. They made it out okay.

She had one hand on Reynard’s forehead, lightly resting there. It looked like they had both received medical care—probably from a fey healer or a witch. Reynard was zonked out, but his injuries looked far better than they should have.

Still, in Mac’s book, Reynard should have been in a hospital, but that was impossible. Guardsmen could leave the Castle for only hours at a time—just long enough to retrieve an escaped inmate. So, after several hundred years of dedicated service, the captain was lying in a dirty alley instead of a proper ward.

No wonder the guards went rogue.

Things were going to change. Mac started a mental list.

He paused to get details from Ashe, but then Caravelli burst out the door, his sword—oddly crumpled—in one hand and a hellhound child in his other arm. “Goddamned dragon!”

Mac couldn’t suppress a snicker. The kid ruined the whole Prince of Darkness image.

“What happened?” said Ashe, craning her neck to look up at him.