Darkness Hunts

Chapter 1

“I need to speak to a ghost.”

Adeline Greenfield paused in the middle of pouring tea into her expensive china cups and looked at me.

“I was under the impression you already could.” Her voice, like her appearance, was unremarkable. With her short gray hair, lined face, and generous curves, she reminded me of the grandmotherly types often seen on TV sitcoms. It was only her blue eyes—or rather, only the power that glowed within them—that gave the game away. Adeline Greenfield was a witch, a very powerful and successful one.

“No. I mean, I can hear them, and sometimes I can see them, but they don’t seem to hear or acknowledge me.” I grimaced. “I thought if I was on the same plane as they are—if I astral-traveled to them—it might help.”

“Possibly.” She set the teapot down and frowned. “But didn’t you help relocate a ghost that was causing all sorts of mischief at the Brindle?”

The Brindle was the witch depository located here in Melbourne, and it held within its walls centuries of knowledge, spells, and other witch-related paraphernalia. “Yes, but it wasn’t really a ghost. It was actually a mischievous soul who was undecided about moving on.”

“Souls are usually incapable of interaction with this world.”

“Yes, but the Brindle is a place of power, and that gave her the ability.”

She nodded sagely. “It is still odd that you cannot speak to them the same way as your mother, because I’m sure she said you had the skill.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You knew Mom?”

She smiled. “Those of us truly capable of hearing the dead are few and far between, so yes, I knew her. We had lunch occasionally.”

That was something I hadn’t known. But then, there was probably a whole lot of stuff I’d never known about my mother—and never would, given she’d been murdered. Grief swirled, briefly touching my voice as I said, “Well, no matter what she may have believed, the dead won’t speak to me.”

“Ghosts can be vexing creatures,” she agreed. “And they often have no desire to acknowledge their death.”

“So how is ignoring me helping them disregard the fact that they’re dead?”

She placed a couple of sugars in each cup, then gently stirred the tea. “We’re talking about the dead here. Their minds are not what they once were, especially those who have been murdered.”

“I didn’t say he’d been murdered.”

“You didn’t have to. Trouble, my dear, darkens your steps, and it’s not such a leap to think that if you want to speak to a ghost, it’s because he died before his time. Otherwise, your reaper would have been able to find out whatever you needed.” She handed me a cup of tea, then glanced over my right shoulder. “I would prefer it, by the way, if you’d just show yourself. It’s impolite to skulk on the edges of the gray fields like that.”

Heat shimmered across my skin as Azriel appeared. Of course, he wasn’t strictly a reaper, as they were soul guides. He was something much more—or, if you believed him, something much less—and that was a Mijai, a dark angel who hunted and killed the things that broke free from hell.

But what he hunted now wasn’t an escapee demon, daemon, or even a spirit—although we certainly had been hunting one of those. We’d gotten it, too, but not before the fucking thing had almost killed me. Which was why I was moving like an old woman right now—everything still hurt. I might be half werewolf, but fast healing was one of the gifts I hadn’t inherited enough of. In fact, I couldn’t shift into wolf shape at all, and the full moon held no sway over me.

Of course, I could heal myself via my Aedh heritage, but shifting in and out of Aedh form required energy, and I didn’t have enough of that, either.

“That’s better,” Adeline said, satisfaction in her voice. “Now, would you like a cup of tea, young man?”

“No, thank you.”

There was a hint of amusement in Azriel’s mellow tones, and it played through my being like the caress of gentle fingers. Longing shivered through me.

Adeline picked up her own cup, a frown once again marring her homely features. “Why do you wear a sword, reaper? There is no threat in this house.”

“No, there is not,” he agreed.

When it became obvious he didn’t intend to say anything else, Adeline turned her expectant gaze to me.

“He wears a sword because he’s helping me hunt down some—” I hesitated. For safety’s sake I couldn’t tell her everything, yet I couldn’t not explain, either. Not if I wanted her help. “—rogue priests who seek the keys to the gates of heaven and hell so they can permanently close them.nd close ”

That raised her eyebrows. “Why on earth would anyone want that?”

“Because they’re not of earth.” They were Aedh, energy beings who lived on the gray fields—the area that divided earth from heaven and hell. Or the light and dark portals, as the reapers tended to say. While the reaper community had flourished, the Aedh had not. They’d all but died out, and only the Raziq—a breakaway group of priests—were left in any great numbers. “And they’ve decided it would be easier to permanently shut the gates to all souls than to keep guarding against the occasional demon breakout.”

She frowned. “But that would mean no soul could move on and be reborn.”

“Yes, but they don’t care about that. They just see the bigger picture.”

“But surely the number of demons who break out of hell is minor when compared to the chaos that closing the gates permanently would cause.”

“As I said, I don’t think the priests care.” Not about the human race in general, and certainly not about babies being born without souls and ending up as little more than inanimate lumps of flesh. “They just want their life of servitude to the gates ended.”

Which is how I’d gotten involved in this whole mess in the first place. The Raziq had developed three keys that would permanently open or close the gates. The only trouble was, my father, who was one of the Raziq responsible for making the keys, had not only stolen the keys but had arranged to have them hidden—so well that even he knew only a general location. And as he could no longer take on flesh form, he now needed me to do his footwork, since only someone of his bloodline could detect the hidden keys.

In fact, everyone needed me—the Raziq, the reapers, the high vampire council. And all of them wanted the keys for very different reasons.

Adeline said, “And this is why you wish to speak so urgently to this ghost? He knows of the keys?”

I hesitated. “No. But he might have some information about a dark sorcerer who could be tied up in all this mess. We questioned our ghost when he was alive, but someone very powerful had blocked sections of his memories. We’re hoping death might have removed those blocks.”

“It’s a rather vague hope.”

“Which is still better than no hope.” I took a sip of tea, then shuddered at the almost bitter taste and put the cup down. Tea had never been a favorite beverage of mine.

“When do you wish to start?” Adeline asked.

“Now, if possible.”

She frowned again. “Your energy levels feel extremely low. It’s generally not considered a wise—”

“Adeline,” I interrupted softly, “I may not get another chance to do this.”

Mainly because I’d been ordered by my father to retrieve a note from Southern Cross Station later this morning, and who the hell knew what would happen after that? But if past retrievals were any indication, then hell was likely to break loose—at least metap be least hysically speaking, if not physically.

She studied me for several minutes, then said, “If you insist, then I must help you, even if it is against my better judgment.”

“Must?” I raised my eyebrows. “That almost sounds like you’ve been ordered to help me.”

“Oh, I have, and by Kiandra herself, no less.” She eyed me thoughtfully. “You have some very powerful allies, young woman.”

Surprise rippled through me. Kiandra—who was head witch at the Brindle—had helped me on several occasions, but only after I’d approached her. That she was now anticipating my needs suggested she knew a lot more about what was going on than I’d guessed. “Did she say why?”

“She said only that your quest has grave implications for us all, and that it behooves us to provide assistance where possible.”

Which suggested that Kiandra did know about the existence of the keys and our effort to retrieve them. And I guess that wasn’t really surprising—surely you couldn’t become the head of all witches without some working knowledge of the fields and the beings that inhabited them.

“Which is why I need to do this now, Adeline.”

She continued to study me, her expression concerned. “What do you know of astral traveling?”

“Not a lot, though I suspect it won’t be that dissimilar to traveling the gray fields.”

“It’s not. Astral travel is simply your consciousness or spirit traveling through earth’s realm, whereas the gray fields are merely the void through which your soul journeys on its way to heaven or hell. But there are a few rules and dangers you should be aware of before we attempt this.”

Having traveled through the gray fields many times, I knew they were hardly a void, as they were where the reapers lived. But I simply said, “There usually are when it comes to anything otherworldly.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. “Thought is both your magic carpet and your foe on the astral plane. If you want to go somewhere, think of the precise location and you will be projected there. By the same token, if you become afraid, you can create an instant nightmare.”

I nodded. She continued. “Be aware that any thought related to your physical body will bring you back to your body. This includes the fear that your physical body may be hurt in some way.”

I frowned. “If I can’t speak or move, how am I going to question my ghost?”

“I didn’t say you can’t move, and you think the questions, the same as you think of the location. Clear?”

“As mud.”

She eyed me for a moment, the concern in her expression deepening. “The astral plane is inhabited by two types of spirits: those who cannot—for one reason or another—move on spiritually, and other astral travelers. And just like walking down the street, you cannot control who’s on the astral fields. But you can be certain that not all will be on the side of the angels.”

“So I should watch my metaphysical ass?”

“Yes. At your current energy levels, you could attract energies who are darker in life, and they may cause you problems on the astral plane or follow you onto this one.”

“I can handle unpleasant energies on this plane. And if I can’t, Azriel can.” I paused. “What of the dangers?”

Her expression darkened. “While you cannot die on the fields themselves, it is possible to become trapped there. It is also possible to become so enraptured by whatever illusion surrounds you on the plane that what happens there can echo through your physical being.”

I frowned. “So if I somehow imagine getting whacked on the plane, my body can be bruised?”

“If the illusion is powerful enough, yes. And if you find yourself entrapped there, you risk death.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Azriel said, before Adeline could, “flesh cannot survive great lengths of time without its soul. And while the astral body is not the entirety of the soul, if you find death when your astral being is not present in your body, then your soul is not complete and cannot move on. You would become one of the lost ones.”

“And here I was thinking it would be a walk in the park.” I swept a hand through my short hair and wished, just once, that something was. “Let’s get this done.”

She glanced past me briefly, then rose. “Come with me, then.”

I followed her out of the living room and down the long hall, my footsteps echoing softly on her wooden floors. Azriel made no sound, although the heat of his presence burned into my spine and chased away the chill of apprehension.

Adeline stopped at the last door on the right and opened it. “Please take your shoes off.”

I did so as she stepped to one side and motioned me to enter. The room was dark and smelled faintly of lavender and chamomile, and my bare feet disappeared into a thick layer of mats and silk.

“Lie down and make yourself comfortable.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Azriel. Though his face was almost classical in its beauty, it possessed the hard edge of a man who’d won more than his fair share of battles. He was shirtless, his skin a warm, suntanned brown and his abs well defined. The worn leather strap that held his sword in place emphasized the width of his shoulders, and the dark jeans that clung to his legs hinted at their lean strength. His stance was that of a fighter, a warrior—one who not only protected me, but had saved me more than once. And would continue to do so, for as long as I was of use to him.

Still, I couldn’t help mentally asking, You’ll be here?

I’ll be here to protect your physical form, yes. His thought ran like sunshine through my mind. I wasn’t telepathic in any way, shape, or form, but that didn’t matter when it came to Azriel. He could hear my thoughts as clearly as the spoken word. Unfortunately, the only time I heard his thoughts was at times like now, when it was a deliberate act on his part. But not on ther ut not e plane. Astral travelers are of this world, not mine, so you are basically little more than a ghost to me. I cannot interact with you in any way.

Reaper rules?

Reaper rules. He hesitated, and something flashed through the mismatched blue of his eyes. Something so bright and sharp it made my breath hitch. Be careful. It would be most . . . inconvenient . . . if you find death on the astral plane.

Inconvenient? I shucked off my jacket and tossed it to one side with a little more force than necessary. Yeah, I guess it would be. I mean, who else would find the damn keys for you if something happened to me?

That, he said, an edge riding his mental tone, is an unfair statement.

Yeah, it was. But goddamn it, if I was an inconvenience to him, then he was a vast source of frustration to me. And on more than one level. Was it any wonder that it occasionally got the better of me and resulted in a snippy remark?

That frustration is shared by us both, Risa.

I glanced at him sharply. His expression was its usual noncommittal self, but the slightest hint of a smile played about his lips. I snorted softly. If he was implying he was as sexually frustrated as me, then he had only himself to blame. After all, he was the one determined to keep our relationship strictly professional now that desire had been acknowledged and acted upon. Although how he could ignore what still burned between us I had no idea. I was certainly struggling with it.

“Risa,” Adeline said softly, “you must lie down before we can proceed.”

I did as she ordered, and the mats wrapped around me, warm and comforting. Adeline closed the door and the darkness engulfed us. The scents sharpened, slipping in with every breath and easing the tension in my limbs.

“Now,” she said softly, her voice at one with the serenity in the room. “To astral-travel, you must achieve a sense of complete and utter relaxation.”

I closed my eyes and released awareness of everything and everyone else around me, concentrating on nothing more than slowing my breathing. The beat of my heart became more measured, and warmth began to throb at my neck as the charm Ilianna—my best friend and housemate—had made me kicked into action. It was little more than a small piece of petrified wood, to connect me to the earth, and two small stones—agate and serpentine—for protection, but it had saved my life when a spirit had attacked me on the gray fields, and I’d been wearing it ever since. That it was glowing now meant it would protect me on the astral plane as fiercely as it did on the gray fields, and I was suddenly glad of that.

Though why I thought I might need that protection I had no idea.

“Let your mind be the wind,” Adeline intoned. “Let it be without thought or direction, free and easy.”

A sense of peace settled around me. My breathing slowed even further, until I was on the cusp of sleep.

“A rope hangs above your chest. You cannot see it in ther see it e darkness, but it is there. Believe in it. When you are ready, reach for it. Not physically—metaphysically. Feel it in your hands, feel the roughness of the fibers against your skin, feel the strength within it.”

I reached up with imaginary hands and grasped the rope. It felt thick and real, and as strong as steel.

“Ignore physical sensation and use the rope to pull yourself upright. Imagine yourself rising from your body and stepping free of all constraints.”

I gripped harder with my imaginary hands and pulled myself upward along the rope. Dizziness swept over me, seeming to come from the center of my chest. I kept pulling myself upright and the pressure grew, until my whole body felt heavy. I ignored it, as ordered, and every inch of me began to vibrate. Then, with a suddenness that surprised me, I was free and floating in the darkness above my prone form.

Only it wasn’t really dark. Adeline’s aura lit the room with a deep violet, and Azriel’s was an intense gold. Which surprised me—I’d have put money on the fact that his would be the fierce white I saw on the fields. The black tats that decorated his skin—the biggest of which resembled half of a dragon, with a wing that swept around his ribs from underneath his arm and brushed the left side of his neck—shimmered in the darkness and seemed to hold no distinct color.

Only that half dragon wasn’t actually a tat. It was a Dušan—a darker, more abstract brother to the one that had crawled onto my left arm and now resided within my flesh. They were originally created to protect the Aedh priests who had once guarded the gates, but we had no idea who’d sent them to us—although Azriel suspected it was probably my father’s doing. He was one of the few left in this world—or the next—who had the power to make them.

Valdis, the sword at Azriel’s back, dripped the same blue fire on the astral field as she did in the real world, and it made me wonder if my own sword, Amaya, would be visible on this plane, given that she was little more than a deadly shadow normally.

I shoved the thought aside, then closed my eyes and conjured the image of the area where our ghost—Frank Logan—had met his doom.

In an instant, I was standing in front of the gigantic shed that was the Central Pier function center. On the night Logan had been murdered, this place had been filled with life and sound, and the pavement lined with taxis and limos waiting to pick up passengers. Now it was little more than a vague ghost town—figuratively and literally.

I looked around. The first thing I saw was a man, watching me. He was tall, with regal features and a body that was as lean as a whip. A fighter, I thought, staring at him.

As our gazes met, humor seemed to touch his lips and he bowed slightly.

I frowned, and thought, Do I know you?

No, but I know you rather well. I’ve been following you around for weeks.

His voice was cool, without inflection but not unpleasant.

Why would you— I stopped and suddenly realized just who he was. You’re the Cazador Madeline Hunter has following me?

I certainly am, ma’am.

I blinked at his politeness, although I wasn’t really sure why it surprised me. I had grown up hearing tales about the men and women who formed the ranks of the Cazadors—the high vampire council’s own personal hit squad—and I suppose I just expected them all to be fierce and fearsome.

He gave me another slight bow. Markel Sanchez, at your service.

Well, forgive me for saying this, Markel, but you’re a pain in my ass and I’d rather not have you following me around, on this plane or in life.

Trust me, ma’am, this is not my desire, either. But it has been ordered and I must obey.

I raised imaginary eyebrows. Meaning even the Cazadors are wary of Hunter?

If they are wise and value their lives, yes.

Which said a lot about Hunter’s power. She might be the head honcho at the Directorate of Other Races, but she was also a high-ranking member of the high vampire council and, I suspected, plotting to take it over completely.

I need to speak to a ghost. You’re not going to interfere, are you?

I’m here to listen and report. Nothing more, nothing less.

I nodded and turned away from him. A grayish figure stood not far away. He was standing side on, looking ahead rather than at me, and he was a big man with well-groomed hair, a Roman nose, and a sharp chin. Frank Logan.

I imagined myself standing beside him, and suddenly I was. If only it were this easy to travel in Aedh form.

Mr. Logan, I need to speak to you.

He jumped, then swung around so violently that tendrils of smoke swirled away from his body.

“Who the hell are you?” He wasn’t using thought, and his words were crisp and clear, echoing around me like the clap of thunder.

I’m Risa Jones. I was standing nearby when you were murdered.

His expression showed a mix of disbelief and confusion. “I’m dead? How can I be dead? I can see you. I can see the buildings around me. I can’t be dead. Damn it, where’s my limo? I want to go home.”

He was never going home. Never moving on. He’d died before his time, and no reaper had been waiting to collect his soul. He was one of the lost ones—doomed to roam the area of death for eternity.

But I suspected nothing I could say would ever convince him of this, and I wasn’t about to even try—that could take far more time than I probably had on this plane. Mr. Logan, I need to speak to you about John Nadler.

He frowned. “I’m sorry, young woman, but I can’t talk to you about clients—”

Mr. Logan, John Nadler is dead—murdered. I imagined a cop’s badge, then showed it to him. We’d appreciate your helping us willingly, Mr. Logan, but we will subp o we wilpoena you if required.

His confusion deepened. “When was Nadler murdered? I was talking to him just today.”

Logan’s “today” had actually been several days ago. Which is why we need to speak to you. We believe you could be the last person to have seen him alive.

Or at least, the last person to have seen the face-shifter who’d killed the real Nadler and assumed his identity. The real Nadler had been dead—and frozen—for many, many years, and that was the body the cops now had.

The Nadler Logan had known had used Nadler’s money and influence to purchase nearly all the buildings around West Street in Clifton Hill—a street that just happened to cross one of the most powerful ley-line intersections in Melbourne. It was also an intersection that seemed very tied up in the desperate scramble to find the portal keys. According to Azriel, the intersections could be used to manipulate time, reality, or fate, and it was likely that whoever had stolen the first key from us—or rather, from me—had used the intersection to access the gray fields and permanently open the first portal.

Suggesting that the face-shifter was either a sorcerer himself or worked for someone who was. Only those well versed in magic could use the ley lines.

Of course, why the hell anyone would want to weaken the only thing that stood between us and the hordes of hell, I had no idea. Not even Azriel could answer that one.

But we’d obviously gotten too close to uncovering who the face-shifter was, so he’d stepped out of Nadler’s life and into a new one. Unless Logan could reveal something about the man he’d known as Nadler, our search was right back at square one.

“I’m not sure I can help you,” Logan said. “He was just a client. I didn’t know much about him on a personal level.”

We’re not interested in his personal life, but rather his business one. I hesitated. What can you tell me about the deal he made with the heirs of James Trilby and Garvin Appleby?

Trilby and Appleby were the two other members of the consortium the fake Nadler had formed to purchase all the land around West Street. Their heirs had decided to sue the consortium—and therefore John Nadler, who had, when they died, become sole owner—for a bigger piece of the land pie. They’d reached an out-of-court settlement the day before Nadler had pulled the plug on his stolen identity.

“I’m not sure how that deal—”

Please, Mr. Logan, just answer the question.

He raked a hand through his hair. The action stirred the ghostly strands, making them whirl into the ether before settling back down.

From somewhere in the distance came a gentle vibration, and the sensation crept around me, making the shadowy world surrounding us tremble. It almost felt like the beginnings of a quake, but was that even possible on the astral fields? Even as the thought ran through my mind, the shadows around me began to quiver, and Adeline’s warning came back to me. I took a deep breath, imagining calmness. The shadowy world close to us stilled, but the distant vibration continued. It was a weird sensation—and it felt likleb it fele trouble. I forced myself to ignore it and returned my attention to Logan.

“Nadler agreed to pay them several million dollars each,” he said, “in exchange for them signing an agreement to accept the wills as they currently stand.”

And will those payments proceed now that Nadler is dead?

He frowned. “Of course. The heirs just won’t get the payment as quickly, because it’ll be tied up until Nadler’s estate is sorted.”

And who is Nadler’s heir? He has no children and he divorced his wife a long time ago. A fact, I thought bitterly, that hadn’t stopped the fake Nadler from killing her.

“You know, there’s a good percentage of men and women who forget to change their wills even after a second marriage, and it’s not unknown for the first partner to get the estate.” He paused, eyeing me critically. “Have you got a will, young woman? It’s never too late to start. I can offer you excellent—”

Thanks, I interrupted quickly, and rubbed imaginary arms. That vibration was getting stronger, and it was not pleasant. But I’m good will-wise. Now, Nadler’s heirs?

“How am I supposed to remember?” His tone was cross. “I haven’t got the paperwork with me, and he’s not my only client, you know.”

I know. Just think back to the agreement. Imagine you have it in your hand.

He frowned and a second later ghostly paper began to form between his hands. I didn’t move, not wanting to startle him and lose the moment.

Who is his heir, Mr. Logan?

“He’s got three—Mr. Harry Bulter, Mr. Jim O’Reilly, and a Ms. Genevieve Sands.”

A woman? One of Nadler’s heirs was a woman? Are any of them related to Mr. Nadler?

“Not as far as I’m aware.” He glanced up. “I still can’t see why—”

Mr. Nadler was a very wealthy man, I said easily. And it’s not unknown for heirs to kill their benefactor to get hold of their money.

“That, unfortunately, is true.”

How was Nadler’s estate divided among the three?

He glanced at the paperwork again. “All three have equal shares in everything.”

I frowned. This wasn’t making sense. Why would the shape-shifter go to all the trouble of killing Nadler off, then divide the estate he’d murdered to get control of among three people?

When was the will drawn up?

His gaze flicked down to the bottom of the paper. “The same day he signed the deal with Trilby’s and Appleby’s heirs.”

Which suggested an on-the-spot decision, but I very much doubted the man we were chasing ever did anything without forethought. Is there anything else you can tell me about Nadler? Any reason you believe someone might wa" fone mignt him dead?

He frowned. “Not really.”

I sighed. Logan hadn’t actually given us anything we couldn’t have found out via a little subversive hacking, so maybe his death had been nothing more than the face-shifter leaving no threads behind, no matter how small.

Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. Logan—

“You could repay me by finding my limo, you know. It seems to have disappeared.”

Just use your phone and call it, Mr. Logan. He wouldn’t get anywhere with it, but hey, if it made him happy, then what the hell.

He made the right motions, and a somewhat fuzzy white limousine popped into existence. As Logan happily climbed in, I turned away. Time to return—

The thought was cut short by a scream.

A scream that suggested there was a woman on the astral plane in very big trouble.

I froze, not sure I could—or should—do anything. Then the scream echoed again, and it was so filled with fear and pain that goose bumps crawled across my imaginary skin. I glanced around for my watcher. He was standing about six feet away, his expression unconcerned as he looked in the direction from which the scream had come.

Are you going to do anything about that?

He turned to me, obviously surprised. Why would I? I am here to report your actions—nothing more, nothing less. But there is nothing to stop you from stepping in.

I guess not, I muttered, then closed my eyes and imagined myself standing near the screamer.

There was no obvious sense of movement, but I was suddenly somewhere I didn’t know. The building outlines, though still shadowed, were sharper here, but rubbish lay everywhere, rats ran in full view, and there were vast puddles of putrid-looking water.

Not the sort of place I’d ever want to be—on this plane, or in life.

A woman stood ten feet away. She was reed thin, with limp blond hair and an almost gaunt face. Her clothes were little more than gray rags and seemed to be unraveling of their own accord, exposing jigsaw sections of her torso and legs. She wasn’t trying to pull the threads back together, wasn’t trying to do much of anything other than scream.

But maybe she couldn’t do anything else. The man who stood in front of her had his palm pressed against her forehead and was burrowing ethereal fingers into her skull.

He was also the source of that uneasy sense of trouble I’d felt earlier—only it wasn’t coming from the stranger himself, but rather from the area immediately around him. It was as if the air were so repelled by his presence that it violently recoiled.

And the air wasn’t the only thing repelled. The Dušan crawled around my left arm, its dark eyes spitting fire, as if it wanted nothing more than to be free from the flesh that bound it to attack the man who stood before us.

A man I wasn’t about to fac beabout te unarmed.

I imagined Amaya in my hands, and she appeared in a blaze of purple fire, her normally shadowed blade so bright on the astral field it was almost impossible to look at her.

Hey, you. I projected my mind voice so hard it shook the very foundations of the buildings around us. Leave that woman alone.

He didn’t unhand her. Didn’t react in any way that I could immediately see. Then, slowly, he turned his head in my direction.

He had no face.

Where there should have been eyes, a nose, and a mouth, there was nothing. It was as if his features had been wiped clean. It was totally and utterly blank.

Impossible, I thought in disbelief. It had to be a trick of some kind. Had to be.

Go away. His voice was little more than a whisper, crawling around me like a dead thing.

I shivered and gripped Amaya harder. Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. I said, leave that woman alone.

I heard.

Then do as I say or the sword I bear will sever your ethereal head from its body.

I didn’t know if that was possible, especially after Adeline saying you couldn’t actually die on the plane. But my sword was from neither the real world nor the astral one. She was born of a demon’s death, and was far more than mere steel. She had a life of her own, a serious hunger for blood, and she could destroy demons and spirits as easily as she did flesh. Surely it wasn’t such a stretch to think she could also kill someone on the astral plane?

The stranger raised his featureless face, oddly looking like he was sniffing the air even though he had no nose. After a moment, he said, As you wish.

He released the woman and stepped back. She collapsed in a heap at his feet and remained there. Which was odd—why hadn’t she zapped back to her body? In fact, why hadn’t she done that when she was first attacked?

Now leave, I said. Get off the fields.

He didn’t react, didn’t reply. He just stood there, his unseeing face pointed in my direction, as if he were studying me. The unease crawling through me grew stronger, but I ignored it and imagined myself closer to the woman. The charm at my neck burned to life, its white light slashing through the shadows. Whoever—whatever—this man was, Ilianna’s magic didn’t like it.

Did you hear me? I swung Amaya in warning. She reacted fiercely to the vibration pouring away from the stranger, spitting and hissing purple fire that danced across the shadowed buildings around us.

I heard. His voice remained soft and oddly free of emotion. But you should know that what I claim, I keep. You have saved no one here, huntress.

I wouldn’t be so sure of that, stranger.

He cocked his head sideways. If he’d had features, I think they would have appeared&nbn appearsp;. . . amused. If you are so confident that you can save her, why don’t we play a little game?

There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of me playing any sort of game with a featureless freak on the astral plane. I swung Amaya again, her kill, kill, kill chant crystal clear in the back of my thoughts. For the moment, my desire for control was stronger than her need to attack, but I had to wonder if that would always be the case, given she’d already tried to take me over once before.

I’m not interested in playing games. I just want you gone.

Ah, but this game involves saving the woman’s life. We both know you are interested in doing that, huntress, or you would not be here.

He was right, of course, but I saw no point in admitting the obvious.

He nodded in the woman’s direction and continued. She has twenty minutes of life left on earth. If you can find her in that time, I will let her live.

Twenty minutes? That’s hardly fair.

Life is never fair. He shrugged. That is the offer. Take it or leave it.

And if I don’t take it?

Then she dies as I have planned, and you will be left to wonder if you could have done the impossible.

And with that, he was gone, taking with him the uneasy sense of trouble. As the charm’s fierceness died to a more muted glow, I imagined Amaya sheathed, then knelt beside the woman.

Miss? Are you all right?

She didn’t respond to the soft question, so I lightly touched her shoulder. She jumped, then shimmied away from me, her brown eyes wide and staring.

It wasn’t so much the fear in her expression that surprised me, but rather the mark burned into her forehead. It was raw and weeping, as if it had only just been done. It was also K-shaped, with a tail that looped, reminding me oddly of a serpent. Two wounds marred her wrists, slicing up the center of her arms. While these were neither raw nor weeping, they’d split the skin open and looked painful. Two red marks also appeared to ring her calves, but from where I stood I couldn’t really see if they were open wounds or not.

Adeline had said you couldn’t be harmed on the astral plane, and yet this woman had been injured, and one of those wounds lay right where the stranger had been touching her. I doubted it was a coincidence.

Who are you? Her mind voice trembled with the fear so obvious in her pale features.

I’m a friend, I thought softly. There was a man attacking you—

Attacking? She frowned. What do you mean, “attacking”? We were having sex, for fuck’s sake!

Sex? On the astral field? How the hell was that even possible? That’s not what it looked like. Besides, you were screaming in fear.

She gathered the remnants of her cloings of hething. Just because I don’t like it vanilla doesn’t mean it wasn’t sex.

I frowned. She was making all the right sounds, but there was something not quite right about her eyes—something beyond the fear. It was almost as if someone else was staring out of them.

I shivered. I need to know where you live, Miss—

Like I’m about to tell you that! And with that, she disappeared.

I swore softly, then closed my eyes and imagined myself back in my body. I whooshed back with surprising speed, my eyes springing open as I gasped in shock.

“Returning swiftly can be quite painful when one isn’t used to traveling on the astral plane,” Adeline commented. “Lie there and rest. I’ll bring you your tea.”

“No!” I jerked upright, and immediately regretted it as my stomach jumped into my throat. I swallowed bile, then added, “We don’t have time.”

Adeline stopped and frowned down at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I came across a woman being attacked by a man with no features.” I pushed to my knees, but the room spun around me, and it was all I could do not to fall back down. “He gave me twenty minutes to try to save her on this plane.”

“Meaning she wasn’t actually being attacked on the astral plane. What you saw was merely a reflection of what is happening here.”

“If that’s the case, he’s branding her with a hot iron and pulling her brains out.”

Adeline went pale. “Then you’re definitely dealing with a dark traveler.”

“Yes.” I pushed to my feet, then flung out an arm to steady myself, only to catch Azriel rather than the wall. The fingers that wrapped around mine were gentle steel, and heat leapt from his flesh, warming the chill from my body and lending me some much-needed strength.

“How are you going to find him if he has no features?” Adeline asked. “Did he give you any clue as to his identity? Did the woman?”

“No, so we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” I glanced at Azriel. “You need to take me to Stane’s. Now. Adeline, I’ll be back.”

Azriel stepped close and wrapped his arms around my waist. His scent—a scent that was both masculine and sharply electric—filled every breath as his power burned through me, sweeping us from flesh to energy in an instant. A second later we were on the gray fields, but these were very different from the ones I traveled. The fields I knew were little more than shadowed echoes of the real world, a place where things not sighted suddenly gained substance. But in Azriel’s arms, I saw the fields as a vast and beautiful place, filled with structures and life that were delicate and unworldly.

We re-formed outside of Stane’s electronics shop in Clifton Hill, which happened to be on the very same street that Nadler’s consortium had been attempting to purchase. In fact, only Stane’s building and one other—a bar—remained in private hands.

I’d known Stane a good part of good pa my life, simply because he was Tao’s cousin. Tao, like Ilianna, was a childhood friend and current housemate, and he and Stane had come from the same brown werewolf pack. Their fathers were brothers—although Tao’s had died when he was young, and Tao himself hadn’t actually lived with the pack; he’d lived with his mother, who was human. Stane was a whiz at all things computer related, and he’d become a rather invaluable source of information and black market technology. If he couldn’t get me the information I needed in record time, no one could.

“You should have just zapped us inside.” I glanced at Azriel as I pushed open the somewhat ratty-looking door. A tiny bell rang cheerily above our heads. “It would have saved us a few seconds.”

“Stane does not react well to sudden appearances.” He shrugged.

I guess that was true—and certainly the last thing we needed right now was Stane passing out in shock. Once we were inside, the camera above us buzzed into action and began tracking our movements. Not that we could go far—the shimmer of light surrounding the small entrance was warning enough that a containment shield was in action.

“Stane, it’s Risa.” Impatience edged my voice as I stared up at the camera. “I need some help rather urgently.”

“Well, it’s about fucking time.” His voice sounded tinny as it echoed from the small speaker near the camera. The shimmer flared briefly, then died. “I’ve been bored as hell lately.”

“What?” I said, as I ran for the rear stairs. “The black market business isn’t going so well at the moment?”

He appeared at the landing and gave me a wide smile. “It’s going very well. But I’ve grown addicted to the challenges you give me. A little subversive hacking into government databases is good for the soul.”

Despite the urgency of the situation, I laughed and kissed his cheek. Stane rather looked like his building—a slender, unholy mess. With his somewhat long and scruffy brown hair, his wrinkled blue shirt, and loose, ill-fitting shorts, he certainly didn’t look like someone who was in any way dangerous—until you actually gazed into his honey-colored eyes. Stane was smarter and harder than he looked.

“So what is it this time?” he said, stepping to one side and waving us through.

“We have a life to save, and precisely eighteen minutes to do it in.”

“Fuck!” He scraped a hand across his bristly chin, then reclaimed his seat at the computer system that dominated his living area. He shoved a second chair in my direction. “You really are pushing it this time. How can I help?”

“I need you to work up an image of the woman I have to find, and then I need you to find her address.”

He swore again, then stretched out his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Okay, hit me with the details.”

I gave him everything I could remember, and within a couple of minutes we had an image of the woman I’d seen on the planes. He flicked it across to another screen, and the search began.

And all I could do was wait.

I pushed to my feet and began pacing. Stane watched me for a moment, then said, “Anything else?”

I inhaled deeply, then slowly released it. It didn’t do much to ease the tension growing inside me. “Well, I also have the names of Nadler’s heirs.”

“How the hell did you manage that?”

I grimaced. “I had a conversation with a ghost.”

He eyed me for a moment, then said, “I won’t even ask. What are their names?”

“Harry Bulter, Jim O’Reilly, and Genevieve Sands.”

“A woman?” Stane frowned. “I can understand naming a number of men, because as a face-shifter, he could step into their lives anytime he wished. But a male face-shifter cannot take the form of a female, and vice versa.”

A fact that I knew, since I was a face-shifter myself. “He obviously has a reason for doing it, but it’s not like the man we’ve been calling Nadler is working on any logical playing field, anyway.”

“True.” Stane typed the names into his system, then swished them across to a separate light screen. “You want a coffee or Coke while we wait?”

“Coke, thanks.”

Stane glanced at Azriel, eyebrow raised in question. Azriel shook his head and I continued pacing, pausing only long enough to accept a can of Coke with a grunt of thanks. The time continued to tick away and it seemed to be taking forever to get our answer.

Stane reclaimed his seat and watched the screens, his expression intent, as if willing a prompt response. But another five minutes passed before the screen closest to him beeped. He put his coffee down and scooted forward.

“About time,” I grumbled, stopping to peer over his shoulder.

“Believe it or not, that was actually fast.” He ran a finger across the screen to highlight some lines, then enlarged them. “The woman you’re looking for is Dorothy Hendricks, from Craigieburn.”

I frowned. Craigieburn was a suburb on the northern edges of Melbourne, developed before the no-larger-than-a-postage-stamp housing plots of today, and popular with families thanks to its decent enough schools and leafy environs. It wasn’t the sort of place I’d expected last night’s woman to live. Given where I’d found her on the astral plane, I’d been expecting a suburb far grimmer. Grimier.

“What address? And what other information have you got on her?”

“Seventeen Crockett Avenue.” He paused, and quickly scanned the screen. “There doesn’t appear to be anything remarkable about her. Her parents are dead, and she has no siblings. According to her tax records, she works the night shift at the Nestlé factory in Campbellfield.”

That raised my eyebrows. She hadn’t looked like a factory worker, but then, what was a factory worker supposed to look like?

“Anything else?”

“No record of marriage or kids, no fines of any kind, good credit history, owns iebstory, her home.” He paused. “She’s a vampire.”

I blinked. That was something I hadn’t expected. “When did she turn?”

He glanced at me. “About thirty years ago, according to the records. No history of trouble after her rebirth, and she was released from the care of her maker about twelve years ago.”

According to Uncle Quinn, fledglings could be in the care of their creators for anywhere between ten and fifty years—it just depended on how quickly the newly fledged vampire learned to cope with all the sensations and needs that came with the state of being undead. That Dorothy had been released after eighteen years suggested she’d been a reasonably fast learner. “Does it list her creator on the certificate?”

It had been law for a few decades now that everyone who underwent the ceremony to become a vampire registered their details with the Births, Deaths, and Marriages Bureau. Once they had turned, their creator then had to register their “birth.” There were still vamps who were turned illegally, of course, but the Directorate and the vampire council—both the high council and the local council—took a dim view of this and came down hard on the turnee and the turner.

Stane glanced briefly at the screen. “Bloke by the name of Martin Cresswell. You want me to do a search on him?”

“That would be great.” I dumped the empty Coke can into the bin, then said, “Let me know if you find anything else.”

He nodded, his expression concerned. “Good luck.”

“We’re going to need it.” Especially when there were only eight and a half minutes left. I glanced at Azriel. “Can you take us to Dorothy’s house?”

He didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around me again. In an instant, we’d zipped through the gray fields, reappearing on the other side so quickly that my head spun and the bitter taste of bile rose up my throat again.

“You,” he said, his voice severe as he stepped back but didn’t quite release me, “need to eat.”

“Like I’ve got the fucking time right now.”

“I did not mean right now.”

“Good.” I scanned the home in front of us. It was nothing remarkable—just an ordinary brick house in a street filled with similar buildings. I pushed open a picket gate that had seen better days and ran for the front steps. There was a doorbell to the left of the door, so I leaned on it heavily, then rapped impatiently on the door itself. Inside, the chime and knocks echoed, but there was no response. If there was anyone inside, he or she was either deaf or dead.

“There is neither life, death, nor undead inside. The house is empty.”

I glanced at my watch. Eight minutes left. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I closed my eyes and tried to remain calm. Tried to think. “Even if she’s not there, there may be some clue—”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence. He just caught me in his arms again and whisked us inside. I drew in a deep breath the second we re-formed, ignoring another rush of dizziness as I sorted throug="-orted th the various scents in the air. Lavender and furniture polish vied for prominence with the aroma of coffee. Underneath that lay the scent of femininity, though it was far more vague than it should have been if she spent the majority of her time here. Certainly in the apartment I shared with Ilianna and Tao, the dominating scents were horse and wolf, with the tang of females coming in a close third. The masculine, incandescent scent that was Tao was a distant fourth.

But there was no male scent here. Nothing to indicate she ever had any visitors, human or otherwise.

I growled in frustration and waved a hand at the first couple of rooms. “I’ll search these; you search the ones at the back of the house.”

He nodded and disappeared. I moved into the nearest room—a living room that was comfortably furnished and neat as a pin. I did a quick walk around, shifting various bits and pieces, but I couldn’t find anything that jumped up and screamed clue.

Conscious that we were running out of time, I dashed into the room opposite. It was a bedroom—the main one, if the shoes lined up neatly along the end of the bed were any indication. I scanned the nearest bedside table, seeing nothing but change, then opened the drawers. Knickers and socks. I cursed, ran around the other side, and repeated the process. Nothing. Fuck!

“Risa,” Azriel called. “Here!”

I spun and ran down the hall. Azriel stood near the phone at the end of the kitchen counter, and as I entered, he pushed a notepad toward me. On it was a series of K-shaped doodles, some with snakelike tails, some without. And in one corner, an address—Amcor, main entrance, Alphington—and a time: midnight last night.

I glanced at him. “We have four minutes left.”

He didn’t answer, just caught me in his arms again and swept us across the fields. This time, when we re-formed, I staggered and would have fallen if not for the fierceness of his grip on me.

He didn’t say anything—he knew me well enough by now to know the futility of it—but his disapproval swept around me as sharply as any rebuke.

We’d reappeared in the middle of an old parking lot. I swung around, searching the old buildings, seeing the grime and the many shadows that haunted the place, even in the midmorning sunlight. The air was ripe with disuse, rubbish, and rats, and the wind whistled through the many broken windows. It was very similar to what I’d seen on the fields.

“There is magic in this place,” Azriel said softly.

I gave him a sharp glance. “Good magic or bad magic?”

“Neither.” He paused. “It sits in between.”

How the hell could magic sit in between? “What about life? Can you sense the woman?”

He hesitated. “There is someone in the end of that L-shaped—”

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I just ran, as fast as I could. I leapt the remnants of the gates and bolted for the shadowed building, nostrils flaring as I dragged in the scents. Death ran underneath all those I’d noted earlier.

"2em">No, no, no!

I crashed shoulder first into the door, sending it and myself falling into the building. I brushed my fingertips against the concrete to steady myself, then ran on, splashing through puddles and leaping over rubbish as I followed the nebulous scent of death through the various rooms—all the while hoping it wasn’t the woman’s death I could smell, but something else.

It was a small hope and, as it turned out, a vain one.