close, either. “Mostly, I’ve got questions.”
Miru-kai crossed his own arms, mirroring his jailer’s posture. “I have one or two of my own. To begin with, I wonder why I thought a civil conversation about freedom was even possible.”
“It was and always will be possible. Whether I agree to it depends entirely on your track record. You came to my office thinking you could charm your way out. I’m not that easily conned.”
“My word of honor counts for nothing?”
“I’d rather have a month’s worth of incident reports without your name all over them.”
“The fey are misunderstood. We don’t respond well to petty rules.”
“Uh-huh. And what happens when you get outside the Castle and start buying cars? Rush hour in Fairyland must be really interesting. Road rage with goblins.”
“You mock me.”
“You bet, but there’s a point to it. If you played well with others, I’d hold the door open myself.”
Miru-kai said nothing, annoyed by the demon’s confident air. He was a prince. A little groveling and trembling would have gone down well about now.
Mac gave him a sharp look. “Exactly how much did you have to do with the break-in at the guardsmen’s vault?”
Walking to the bed, Miru-kai sat down. The cell was small enough that it made no difference to the conversation, except now he was comfortable. Princes sat. Lackeys stood.
Mac’s expression didn’t change.
Miru-kai considered his options and chose a strategy. “In all honesty, I simply played the role of opportunist. Perhaps bodies do not easily break free of the Castle’s chains, but news travels by sorcery, by whispers, by means even I cannot fathom.”
“Like the bulletin board at www.SeeSparkyRun. com?”
“I may be an old soul, but I can surf the Web,” the prince replied, putting one hand to his chest. “Though I concede calling a fire demon of your stature ‘Sparky’ is a touch disrespectful. Some of the fey can be insolent wags.”
“Which is why only this part of the Castle gets wireless anymore.”
Damn it all! For the first time in hundreds of years, the prince had found a reliable link to the outside world, and now it was extinguished. Miru-kai swore silently, but shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“If you want out of this cell, you’re going to have to give something up,” Mac said sternly.
“I have professional standards. Confidentiality to maintain.”
“Since when have you done anything but protect your own interests?”
“You wound me.”
“No, but I can. A good friend of mine is counting on me to figure this out.”
Mac’s expression packed its bags and went to the dark side.
Miru-kai sighed. It was better to offer up information while it still had value. The whole sorry affair was going to come out soon, anyway. “I heard of an individual who wished to steal a guardsman’s urn. How he found out that they even existed is quite beyond me, but no matter. He required a thief who could, with the proper instruction, circumvent all the wards upon the door of the vault. I gave a referral.”
“And collected a finder’s fee?”
“Of course.”
“I’m guessing you let the demon through the forest gate?”
Miru-kai nodded. “Yes. There. I confess. Let me out. I found my client a certain kind of demon who is expert at acquiring valuable objects. He is your thief.”
Instead, Mac’s brows drew together. “A collector demon?”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was a collector demon, and would never, ever give up whatever he took.” He made it a statement, not a question.
“His species is extremely rare. I deserved a bonus for being able to locate such a prodigy. Even if I was hired for my quick wits and extensive knowledge of the Castle and its inhabitants and, yes, my extensive information network, this . . . this was a coup.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Mac impatiently. “And then?”
“It is not my fault that my client wasn’t specific about the character of the thief. He simply wanted one who could procure what he wanted. I did what I was asked. The fey always keep their bargains.” Miru- kai gave a toothy smile. “Though we tend to give what our client deserves. He was a trifle pushy. Vampires, you know.”
Mac was unamused. “Your client was Belenos, King of the East?”
“How well-informed you are.”
“I’d heard he was hanging around Fairview. I’m not the only one working on this case. Where is Belenos?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“How did you get paid?”
“In goods. As for the demon,” Miru-kai went on, breezing past the question, “it is my understanding that the first thing he did upon double-crossing his employer and running away with the urn was to find a successful lawyer and bind him into service. So much for the good old days, when an army of rotting corpses was the best line of defense. These modern days lack a certain sense of theater.”
Mac pondered that. “You let the demon thief out of the forest. How did he get out of the Castle?”
“Two weeks ago, Lord Belenos secured one of the nine keys to the Castle at a very, very, very private auction. While it’s not as powerful as your master key, with a lot of extra sorcery he managed to get the demon past the portal barriers. That was no mean feat of magic. And the key has allowed Belenos to come and go from here ever since.”
Mac’s face froze; then his voice emerged thunderous. “What?”
Miru-kai licked his lips, savoring the moment. “That’s probably why your allies on the outside can’t find him. King Belenos has been sleeping here, right under your guardsmen’s noses.”
Ashe woke to find herself sitting on a headstone. Startled, she jumped down, her mule-slippered feet landing on the cold, crumbly loam of the grave. Claw-sharp pine needles poked at her heels.
Where the hell am I? The graveyard looked familiar, with the ocean sighing against the rocks to the south. Where’s Reynard?
But she was alone. Overhead, the moon dodged a lacework of clouds. Not enough light to really see, but it looked like Saint Andrew’s Cemetery. Big trees, old graves, the smell of cold sea air. She hadn’t been there for a while, but she’d walked through it often enough as a kid.
I’m dreaming again. That thought made her relax a notch. She’d neglected to set Grandma’s charms in place. Well, she’d been a little distracted.
She stepped off the grave, leaving a slipper behind. Cold, damp loam touched her bare sole, giving her instant goose bumps. She stuck her slipper back on her foot, then emptied the other of crumbly dirt. One crappy detail was that the night was freezing cold and she was wearing nothing but an oversize Ghostbusters T-shirt. Better than the nothing she was wearing curled up beside Reynard, but why couldn’t she have dreamed herself in a nice, warm coat?
But part of her knew it wasn’t quite a dream. A frisson of dread crawled over her flesh like a horror cliche lurching from the grave.
Ashe whirled around, trying to see in every direction at once. It was too dark, the moon in and out of the clouds just enough to see shapes a few feet away. The clumps of cedar trees were no more than patches of rustling blackness. She could just make out the name on the tombstone where she’d been sitting: Marian Carver.
Mom. Ashe’s hand went to her mouth, a weak gesture she hated.
She’d been sitting on her mother’s grave. The mother she’d killed with her stupidity. Her sense of balance seemed to melt, leaving her weak-legged and sweating despite the cold. If this was some sort of trip through the
