“I’m okay,” he said, which wasn’t entirely true. “I think I’m just fighting a cold.”
“Demons don’t get colds,” Caravelli said flatly.
“Then I’m only getting half a cold. I’m so relieved.”
Holly gave them both a disgusted glare. “I looked for anything to do with the Castle creating or changing the inhabitants. There’s so little written, it didn’t take that long. The only references I found just covered the usual stuff— no need to feed, no need to drink, and so on. So I tried some other books on demonology.”
Mac sat back, crossing his arms, trying to listen to her and ignore Caravelli’s death-ray stare.
She went on. “There was one unusual reference to the Castle. It said something about an avatar being stolen, but the manuscript was in Bulgarian and so I tried running the text through translation software, but that never works all that well. I’m trying to get a line on someone at the university who can put it into proper English.”
“Avatar?” Mac asked. “As in the incarnation of a god? A concept?” He didn’t think an ancient manuscript would be referring to chat-room icons.
“I don’t know. As I said, the translation was garbled. All I got for certain was that the Castle is decaying somehow.”
“Yeah, well, I heard the place had gardens once,” Mac replied. “I don’t know what could grow there. There’s no sunlight.”
Caravelli narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t stopped watching Mac’s every breath. “Queen Omara reported rumors that the magic of the Castle is fading.”
Mac trusted very little that came out of the vampire queen’s mouth, but this once she could be telling the truth. Dying magic usually meant magic going wonky. Could it be that the remnants of his demon infection were reacting to that?
Holly shook her head. “Unfortunately, theories and rumors are all we’ve got. I’m sorry, Mac, but nothing I found was all that helpful.”
Shit. It was all he could do to control his face and hide his disappointment. It wasn’t her fault..
A waiter stopped, a young weresomething with a name tag that said JOE. Both Mac and Caravelli shifted in their seats, dialing down the glare fest for the benefit of the staff.
Joe was oblivious. “What can I get you?” He cleared away the remains of the stew, then picked up Mac’s empty beer bottle and added it to his tray. “Another drink?”
Mac nodded. Caravelli ordered red wine. Holly asked for mineral water. Joe left with the order. For a split second, everyone seemed comfortable. It was a good act. Too bad Mac had to put a wrinkle in it by asking for more favors. If Holly didn’t have the answer to one problem, he had to move on to the next.
“Holly, I’m really grateful to you for helping me out, but there’s something else.”
Predictably, Caravelli tensed, but Mac forged ahead. “What do you know about demon boxes?”
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. Caravelli’s one lucky bloodsucker.
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?”
Because Constance is there, and I had to get my head on straight before facing her again. “The answers I need are out here.”
“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.”
Glory Hallelujah, break out the fireworks.
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.
Interesting, thought Mac. The woman came straight up to Holly. Mac pushed back his chair again, this time ready to intervene.
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. Sis? Ah, so this is the vampire-hunting in-law.
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. Friendly neighborhood demon.
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, private drink among friends,” Caravelli said with his special mix of sarcasm and Bela Lugosi.