Unchained, the Dark Forgotten (2010) (22 page)

“That’s pretty much what I expected,” Ashe replied.

“Alessandro’s put in a call to Queen Omara, just to give her a heads-up. He kind of had to.” Holly grimaced. “I really hope she doesn’t decide to pay a visit. Once she’s involved, the two vampire courts will be at war.”

Ashe could see the strain on Holly’s face. War meant casualties, and Alessandro would be in the thick of it. “Who are these vamps? Are they all with the King of the East?”

“And how did this collector find a thief inside the Castle?” Reynard put in. “There are connections here we do not see quite yet.”

“There are collector demons,” Holly offered tentatively. “Gathering stuff is a sickness with them, kind of like hoarders with superpowers. They’re notorious for double-crossing whomever they’re working with if they’re offered the right trinket.”

“Who would hire someone like that?” Ashe countered. “Wouldn’t they check references?”

“And forgive me for saying this, Captain, but would someone want a vessel containing your life essence?” Holly’s forehead furrowed with concern.

Reynard leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He had that closed look again. “I don’t really know. I assume for some work of the dark arts. Magic stole my life to bind me to my Castle duties. It stands to reason the same magic could install it elsewhere.”

“It’s not the Castle itself that binds you?”

“No.” His voice was heavy. “No more than any of the other inhabitants. The guardsmen’s power itself has a separate origin. One that chains us much more firmly.”

“So if the changes in the Castle’s magic haven’t affected the old guards, do you feel any different when you leave its domain? Do you get hungry or thirsty?” Holly asked.

“It happens more slowly with us than for the other residents. If there is too great a separation between body and soul, the spells that keep the guardsmen alive begin to weaken. That’s when we begin to feel ordinary appetites.”

What did that make those exquisite kisses in the gym? Ashe wondered. Most likely a really bad sign.

Holly tapped her chin with the stuffed whale. “So how did the guardsmen get started?”

“I’m afraid that was far before my time. I think they’ve been there as long as the Castle.”

Eden tugged Ashe’s sleeve, finished sulking and clearly bored by the adult conversation. She looked up, her hot-chocolate gaze at its most appealing. “Where’s Robin? Can I see her?”

The interruption scattered Ashe’s thoughts. She’d been on the cusp of making a connection, but it was gone now. She looked at her sister. “Is that okay?”

“Robin’s in the downstairs nursery, asleep. Eden, can you be very, very quiet?” Holly asked.

“Sure,” Eden replied, as if that was a completely unnecessary question.

Ashe stood, glad of the excuse to take a quick peek at her niece. “Come on, kiddo.”

The room was down a short hall decorated with wainscoting and an old-fashioned striped wallpaper. Eden followed Ashe, her hands in her pockets. “I hate the idea of the hellhounds outside. The kids around here already think I’m a terrorist spy. If they find out my aunt’s got a dog army guarding her house, my life is over.”

Ashe tried to digest that, but failed. “Y’know, they turn into hot guys in leather at least half the time. That’s pretty cool.”

“Human is cool, Mom. Everyone knows that.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever. They used to burn witches, you know.”

Ashe stopped and took her daughter by the shoulders. She was actually shocked. “Don’t you ever turn your back on your family or what they are.”

Eden’s face turned serious. “The kids at school . . .”

“Are complete idiots.” Ashe let her go. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to go there. I want to go back to Saint Flo’s.” Eden gave her hostile eyes. “I bet I could hitchhike.”

“The ocean would be a problem.” Ashe bit her tongue, wanting to say more, but Eden was only a child.

“Yeah, but I have to go to this school that hates me, so what am I supposed to do?” Eden was close to shouting, the anger sharp and real.

“We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

“When?”

Ashe made a decision. Her daughter was on the verge of getting her magic. Life was going to be hard enough for Eden, getting used to all that, and she’d run away once already. “You and I will have a talk before next weekend. Maybe there’s a different school we can try.”

The girl’s face melted with relief.

Bingo
. Ashe put her arm around her daughter, and they walked into the downstairs nursery. It used to be Grandma’s room when she had lived in the house, and her Victorian tastes showed in the flowered wallpaper and pink Chinese carpet. Holly had made it into a second room for the baby, closer than the nursery two floors above.

“This room feels different,” Eden said softly, remembering not to wake the baby. “Super quiet.”

“It’s the house watching over Robin. It will keep away anyone who means harm to one of us.”

“One of us?”

“One of the family.”

“Cool.”

“You bet it is.” Ashe kissed the top of Eden’s curly head. “Here you’ve got the house, the hellhounds, Aunt Holly, and Uncle Alessandro to look after you. This is the safest place in Fairview.”

“Did my grandma and grandpa live here?” Eden asked.

Ashe’s stomach tightened; she felt the ghosts of her past circling around. “This used to be their house. Holly and I grew up here.”

Eden looked up at Ashe. “Are there any pictures of them?”

“Aunt Holly would know where they are. Now, let’s look at Robin.”

Ashe crossed to where the baby’s crib stood in the middle of the room. Robin had been born healthy but a little too soon, and was still tiny. A pink fuzzy sleeper engulfed her limbs, making her the same shape as a gingerbread cookie. Her hair was wheat blond like her father’s, but there wasn’t much of it yet. A single downy tuft crowned the top of her head like the curl on an ice-cream cone.

“She’s so funny-looking!” Eden whispered.

“Shh. Don’t say that in front of Aunt Holly.” Ashe felt her heart lighten. “All babies look like that.”

Robin was going to be beautiful. Ashe thought she could see something of both parents in Robin: the bow of Holly’s mouth, Caravelli’s straight nose. It would be fascinating to see who this miracle child turned out to be, what powers she would wield.

Ashe gripped the crib rail, aching to reach down and touch the baby’s petal-soft skin, but afraid to wake her. She had wanted more kids. At least now there was another child around. Being an auntie had its perks.

Eden gave an eager smile. “I bet I get to hold her later.”

“If you’re really lucky, you can change her diaper.”

Eden made a face at that.

Reynard and Holly came in. Despite his graceful movements, the captain seemed too large for the feminine room. He looked down into the crib and his face went soft. “Hello, darling girl.”

The way he said it, with that accent, had Ashe melting where she stood. “Have babies changed much?”

Reynard looked up, his gray eyes filled with something she couldn’t name. Sorrow, but deeper, as if the bad boy and the gentleman had stepped aside, and the real Reynard looked out at her for the first time.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “Not at all. My niece and nephew were just the same.”

Lore wasn’t going to be around until the next morning, so Ashe and Reynard had plenty of time to keep Holly’s ghostbusting appointment. Ashe was glad it was going to be a quick job. She had far more interesting worries, not the least of which was the man sitting next to her. They were well into day two of the Great Urn Search, and she still didn’t have a lead and wasn’t sure where to begin looking. She was a slayer, not a detective.

“Pursuing any of the supernatural problems at hand will shed light on the others,” Reynard had maintained as he’d wrestled with the mysteries of the SUV’s seat belt. She hoped he was right.

Her tussle with Reynard this morning had nailed home the fact that, whatever her brain was thinking, her body wanted to know him a whole lot better. Her self-control circuits were seriously overheating.

She could feel herself sizing up Reynard for long-term potential. Which, of course, didn’t exist. Obviously, her libido wasn’t very bright. She was almost grateful when they reached their destination. She needed those last few brain cells for the task at hand.

She found a parking spot, sacrificed to the meter gods, and looked around.

The bookshop at Fort and Main was in an old two-story house. The front yard was separated from the street by a picket fence. Along the walk, a few hyacinths were just coming into bloom. The rest of the garden looked overdue for a good weeding. Ashe and Reynard walked to the porch. The paint was peeling around the windows and porch rail, and last fall’s dead leaves drifted in the nooks and crannies of the steps.

A wooden sign carefully lettered with BOOK BURROW hung above the door. The name had nagged at Ashe since she first heard it, but she couldn’t place why it was familiar.

“This place is neglected,” Reynard commented.

“If it’s a new owner, maybe he hasn’t had time to clean up yet,” Ashe replied. “I remember this store. Old Mr. Cowan used to own it. It was called Cowan’s Books back then. He used to save the Nancy Drews for me. He had an uncanny memory for which ones I still hadn’t read.”

“Nancy Drews?” Reynard asked.

Ashe walked up the porch stairs. “Mystery stories. I had the whole set when I was ten years old.” She paused, trying to sense anything odd about the house. It wasn’t sentient, just a house, but a faint sadness curled in the air like smoke. Maybe whatever was haunting the place missed old Mr. Cowan. She turned the brass knob and went in, setting off a door chime.

Reynard followed, looking around. The floor creaked beneath his boots. “It smells like mildew.”

“Maybe the roof leaks.” Ashe fought claustrophobia. There had always been lots of bookcases, but they had multiplied. Now they lined both sides of the hallway, leaning precariously where the old floor buckled and heaved. Stacks of boxes jostled for space in the corners. “I don’t remember it being this crowded. There’s got to be twice as much stock.”

Cardboard signs were tacked to the wall, each with an arrow and subject area. Cooking, this way. Military history, that way. Novels, upstairs. While Ashe scanned them, a faint sound came from the left, no more than a footfall on the thin carpet. She whipped around, far jumpier than she needed to be. There was nothing there—no monster pouncing from the shadows. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

The noise had come from the room she remembered held the cash desk, where Holly’s client was probably waiting. She listened again. Nothing hit her senses as a threat.

Get moving.
The best thing to do was follow that noise.

She had to go carefully so that she didn’t knock something over. The store’s new name was apt: It was like burrowing through a tunnel of books. Reynard had to turn slightly, his broad shoulders brushing the shelves. High above, a stained-glass window shed a thin light over the mess.

The main room was much as she remembered it. The walls formed a hexagon, glass- fronted shelves reaching to a twelve- foot ceiling. The topmost books could be accessed by a library ladder that wheeled around the room. A bay window faced the street. Reynard paused to peer into a glass case. A stuffed marmot snarled from inside the dusty prison. “Why would anyone want this?”

“Yeah, especially when there’s a perfectly good two-headed squirrel over there. C’mon.”

He still hesitated, distracted by a collection of miniature sailing ships.

“Reynard?”

He pointed to the ship in the middle. “I sailed to India on one like that.” He straightened. “It was a bit bigger, though.”

Ashe envisioned Reynard on the high seas, and felt a pang of confusion. Imagining him in the past seemed right and wrong at the same time.

“Do you see anyone here?” she asked.

“No.”

The service desk was where she remembered it, at the back of the room. A huge, antique cash register, covered in brass scrollwork, perched on the mahogany counter.

“Hello?” she called. The sound seemed to die as soon as it left her lips. Bad acoustics, with all those books around. “Hello?”

“I’ll go look in the other rooms,” Reynard said, his brows drawing together.

“Just remember he’s a bookshop owner, not a demon.”

He looked down his nose. “Do you think I’ve forgotten how to deal with common humans?”

“You looked kind of serious there for a moment. I’m just saying . . .”

“I’ll mind my manners, madam,” he said a touch frostily, but the twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He walked back the way they had come, a slight swagger creeping into his step. It did nice things for his blue jeans.

Ashe’s heart gave a little gallop. “You do that, Galahad.”

Job. There’s a job, remember?
She tried to tune into the house again, let her own energy fan outward until it touched the spirit of the place. Old places gathered memories, moods. It wasn’t active magic, just the silt of years past.

Heavy. Tired. Sad
.

It came through faintly. The presence of the books muffled the feeling, absorbing the house’s energy as effectively as they did sound and light. Ashe could feel each volume, too, rows and rows of presences, individual auras rich with the trace of every reader who had thumbed their pages. A few books carried more than that, some pulsing with magic. Interesting, but not why she was there.

She pushed past the walls, reaching outward. Reynard was hunting through the rooms to the right. Mice tiptoed behind the baseboards, stopping, sniffing. Above, far above, someone waited. Not a human someone.