joyous future, no hero’s triumph.
So there was no reason to spare himself. Duty, dignity, and death.
Resentment and frustration had boiled inside Reynard for centuries, but he could use that. Furious, he thrust all the power he could hold at the creature.
Holly and the others dug deep, answering the demand of Reynard’s attack. He hammered at the demon, rage lending strength.
The onslaught pushed, shoved, drove the dark shadow into the portal. He felt the magic of the other guardsmen sink claws into the demon’s body. But the creature would not surrender its hoard. It made one last lunge forward, desperate to claim its treasure—chained by its lust for objects as surely as Reynard was chained to his curse.
The magic broke, like an elastic band strained beyond endurance. Power recoiled, slamming into the demon, smashing it to smithereens. The explosion ripped through the empty store, hurling the piles of lamps, toys, movies, and everything else into the walls.
Reynard, the guardsmen, and everyone else flew like discarded dolls. The last thing Reynard remembered was that the blinding pain had finally stopped as he was sucked into the Castle along with the demon.
Ashe dove for the urn, letting the huge force hurl her toward the fragile vessel and the life inside.
Chapter 24
Ashe jumped to her feet and began pounding on the wall where the portal had been—where Reynard had been—a moment before.
“Reynard! Mac!” She slammed on the plain white surface of the store wall with the flat of her hand. “Let me in!”
She stopped a moment, cradling the urn in her arms. Her head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Every part of her ached with worry.
After working that much magic, Reynard would be weakened. He wouldn’t survive long in the Castle. She had to get in there and deliver his urn.
“Let me in!” She began banging again, because she wouldn’t, couldn’t stop trying to save him.
Holly got to her feet, shaking debris out of her hair. Some of the ceiling tiles were damaged and raining down a fine, white dust. “Sandro?” she called.
Alessandro had already picked himself up but had been swamped by the reporters. With no demons around, a vampire was the next-best news bite.
Holly grabbed Ashe’s arm. “The portal’s closed. We’ll have to go downtown to the Castle door.”
Ashe kicked the wall savagely. “Dammit!”
There were emergency vehicles everywhere, police cordons, news reporters. They’d never get out.
Then she had a sudden inspiration.
Belenos’s key!
There was one well-thumbed magazine in the cell. Miru-kai had found it abandoned in the corner when he arrived the first time Mac had put him in this tedious place. Now he pulled it out from under the mattress and settled down for a third trip through the pages. Like the television shows he had seen, it described the human world as founded on a lust for material goods, reverence for the athletically gifted, and a rabid hunger for gossip. In other words, not much had changed in the many years he’d been in the Castle.
He shut the magazine with a disgusted flutter of pages. He was bored. It had been bad enough being locked up for knowing too much about the theft of the urn—that at least made sense. Now he was locked up for having stolen Ashe Carver’s daughter. Which wasn’t true. He’d wanted to, but he had actually begun to change his mind when Reynard had charged in to save the day.
How could he be blamed for something he hadn’t done? Why not wait a bit, until he actually was truly guilty? In Miru-kai’s case, that would have been only a day or two, anyway.
Humans were odd, frustrating creatures. Mac might not be human anymore, but he still thought like one. Miru-kai heaved a martyred sigh.
There was a niche in the wall with a pitcher of water and a cup. An unnecessary civility—as with the other long-term residents, he did not require food or drink—but it was a nice touch nonetheless. He poured himself a cup of the cool water purely for something to do.
He had to get out of there. He had the gem to get him out the Castle door, but that was useless unless he could get to the Castle door.
He tasted the water. He could sense all the metal, and the new substance called plastic, that had surrounded the drink on its way from a man-made lake somewhere with tall pine trees and ice. The guardsman who had poured the water into the jug had been thinking about his woman. Those thoughts tasted sweet, like the honey made from wild meadows. Ah, whoever, he is, his heart swells with love. Humans felt everything so keenly.
Despite what Mac thought, Miru-kai didn’t wish harm on the guardsmen. They had their duties just as he had his. In some ways, their lot was every bit as miserable—no sun, no joy, few creature comforts. Prisons incarcerated the guards just as much as the inmates.
The prince set the cup of water back into the niche, saving it for later. He could not afford to get lost in the guardsman’s longing daydreams. He hoped they did not belong to the unfortunate Stewart.
From far away, Miru- kai heard a commotion. Mac’s voice, the deep masculine rumble of guardsmen’s voices. Something had been going on for hours, but whatever was happening now was rich with urgency. Best of all, it was nearby. At last, something interesting!
Then he heard women talking, their words urgent and upset. He recognized the voice of Eden’s mother. Had something happened to the child? A stab of anxiety brought him near the cell door.
That’s the Carver woman. And another. The timbre of their voices was so alike, he was willing to wager both Carver sisters were there, together. They were just down the corridor to the right.
Without thinking, Miru- kai grabbed one of the iron bars as he leaned forward for a better look. The blast of pain sent him reeling back, a red welt rising on his palm.
“Oberon’s balls!” He grabbed his wrist with his other hand, hissing through his teeth at the pain. He’d taken sword thrusts with manly fortitude, but cold iron hurt more.
But he forgot his discomfort as the owners of those voices walked past, because then he could see what the tall, blond Carver woman held.
“You found Reynard’s urn!” Miru-kai blurted out.
The woman wheeled, gave him a raking glance up and down. “I did.”
She reminded him of a wildcat, taut springs of energy just waiting to uncoil. To strike.
“You’re Prince Miru- kai. The one who let the demon out to steal this urn. The one who took my daughter.”
Her face, pale and tight with fatigue, was a kaleidoscope of burning emotion—fear, triumph, remorse, anger. Miru-kai had the uncomfortable feeling his schemes were the root cause of much of that heat.
“I am Miru- kai,” he replied, oddly glad of the iron bars between him and this Amazon. He sketched a polite bow.
She stared at him again, her bright green eyes holding his for a long moment. “I’ve never met you, and yet you’ve turned my life upside down.”
“That sometimes happens when the dark fey touch another’s life.”
“Why?” There was no ducking that question. Her tone said she’d break his head if he tried.
“We are the storm that breaks old patterns.”
“And leaves room for something new.” That was the dark-haired sister, Holly.
Miru-kai bowed. There were very few who understood the role fey played in the world. Most people thought they were simply evil. “I take it the demon is defeated.”
