your people are safe from me.”
“Do you give your word, guardsman?” Lore asked. The question had the weight of ritual.
“I do.” Reynard made no move until the hound nodded.
“If it is you who swears, then I will accept your truth. You are one of the few guards who always keep your word. Come inside.”
They followed him into the cavernous warehouse. It seemed to be hollowed out inside, with only a mezzanine above for offices. Large windows let in air and light, but it was dark enough that Reynard slipped off the glasses. Metal shelving surrounded the open area. A moving van was parked beneath a rolling steel door that opened onto busy Johnson Street. A dozen hounds were moving what looked like freshly upholstered furniture into the van.
“What kind of business is this?” Reynard asked.
“Humans are wasteful,” Lore replied. “We take what they throw away and make it new again.”
“Furniture refinishing?” Ashe queried. “You’ve gone into decorating?”
Lore gave her a look that might have been amused. Hellhounds were notorious for their poker faces—for them, showing emotion was a private gesture. Lore was more expressive than most. An effort to blend in with the humans, she supposed.
“Among other things.” He shrugged. “Engines. Appliances. Whatever we can fix.”
Reynard said nothing more, but looked around with intense curiosity.
There was a kind of coffee nook in the back with a few folding chairs gathered in a loose circle. As they approached, the four hounds sitting there glanced up. As one, they rose and went to help the movers, leaving them alone.
Lore stopped beside the coffeepot. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“Yes,” said Reynard unexpectedly. “I would be honored.”
“Captain Reynard fears he will insult me,” Lore said in response to Ashe’s puzzled look. “Our elders do not take it well if hospitality is refused.”
“Then, sure, I’ll have some coffee,” Ashe replied. “Whatever makes the elders happy.”
“That is what I say, all too often.” Lore found three clean mugs and poured from what looked like a fresh pot. “Please help yourself to cream and sugar.”
It was real cream. The coffee tasted like hazelnut. The recycling business must have been doing well.
Lore sat in one of the folding chairs. “How may I assist you?”
Reynard sniffed the coffee experimentally. He looked pleasantly surprised. “We are searching for a thief.”
Lore’s dark brows came together. “And so you came directly to me. Am I to be flattered or insulted?”
Ashe blew past that one. “This thief is probably dealing in high-end valuables or curiosities. That includes goods from the Castle.”
Lore sat up straight, his eyes dark with carefully banked anger. “I once traded supplies with the Castle warlords to free my hounds from slavery. You think that means I know every thief and smuggler who sets foot in the Castle?”
“There aren’t many rumors the hounds don’t hear,” said Reynard quietly. “That’s why we are here. You are the best source of information we could hope for.”
Lore sat very still. Ashe felt queasy with the tension in the room. She preferred fighting to info gathering, hands down. Hitting someone over the head was easier than convincing them to cooperate.
Reynard went on, his face grim. “We think this thief may be a demon.”
“The same one who owned the bookstore that burned down yesterday,” Ashe broke in. “Y’know, the one Holly asked your hounds to guard so no humans blundered inside? We think we’re dealing with a collector demon.”
Lore looked confused. “Then if you know who the demon is, why are you asking me?”
“Because the store burned down, and now we don’t know where he’s gone. If we know who he hangs out with, or if he’s on the market for more stuff, or, well, whatever the rumor mill can tell us, we might be able to track him down again.”
Lore nodded, confusion fading to thoughtfulness. “Such as . . . perhaps he is pursued by a vampire?”
“Are you serious?” Ashe stiffened. Bingo!
“Hellhounds cannot lie. That is our nature, as you well know.” The annoyance was back.
Reynard sat forward. “Tell us. Please.”
“There’s not much to tell, but the incident was unusual.” Lore got up, put his cup on the counter, and turned. “I worked here late last night. Around midnight a vampire knocked on my door. He asked the same questions that you are.”
“Goddess,” Ashe breathed. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. He was a stranger. He was powerful. Tall, red-haired. Very, very old. I smelled anger on him. He, too, had heard that the hounds knew about trade in stolen goods. By the questions he asked, I am certain he is hunting for the same thief.”
“Belenos.” Ashe stood up, too wired to sit still. “He’s the King of the freaking East.”
Lore’s brows drew together. “I wondered. There were others with him, but they stayed in the shadows outside. He’s traveling with a guard.”
“Did he do more than ask questions?” Ashe asked.
“Wait here a moment.” Lore started across the warehouse at a jog-trot, heading for a small office stuck in the corner.
Reynard rose and set his cup on the counter. It was half-empty. He held the handle a moment before letting his fingers slip away, as if reluctant to let it go. “That tasted good.”
He’s dying. She knew that, but it hit her with a gut punch all over again. Ashe tried to keep her eyes steady as she searched his face. “You don’t look upset.”
“It’s hard to explain what it’s like to really taste something after hundreds of years.” He gripped the counter a moment.
“Are you feeling okay?” Ashe said tentatively.
“Of course.” He turned to face her.
Like the hellhounds, he was a crappy liar.
Oh, Goddess. Guilt made her turn away, cursing under her breath. “I should have a plan of action by now, and I’m not sure where to go next. I thought Lore would be more help.”
“But he has been. We know our visiting vampires may lead us to the demon’s door. If we find one, we’ll find the other.”
“I’ve got to come up with something.” She paced a few steps, digging deep to find the clinical calm that had taken her through so many hunting missions. “This is taking too long.”
But she didn’t have time to think further. Lore was returning, a pink object in his hand. He stopped, an unhappy look on his face. “The vampire king left this. He said others would come asking about the collector, and they would know what this meant.”
Lore held out a pink stuffed rabbit. “Do you understand this?”
Reynard stiffened. “It’s a threat.”
Lore looked flummoxed. “A rabbit?”
Ashe took the plush toy. It looked expensive. Reynard turned over the gift tag tied to its paw.
“ ‘For Eden, hugs and kisses,’ ” he read aloud.
Ashe felt her heart freeze. “Goddess, I’ve got to get to my daughter.”
Chapter 17
Sunday, April 5, 6:00 p.m.
101.5 FM
