Darkness Hunts

Chapter 8

I half raised Amaya, then stopped as fear gave way to realization. It wasn’t a foe who walked toward us; it was a friend.

Uncle Quinn—Riley’s moon-sworn lover, and the half Aedh who’d taught me how to use my own Aedh skills—to be exact. He was also a former Cazador, and one of the few who not only survived the experience but walked away virtually unscarred. And that, to me, only emphasized just how deadly he could be.

It was a damn shame he hadn’t turned up five minutes earlier. He would have handled the hellhounds with one hand tied behind his back and very little bloodshed.

“Risa?” The muffled confines of the tunnel made it hard to judge how close he actually was, but the Irish lilt usually evident in his voice had all but disappeared—a sure sign he was ready for battle. “You okay?”

“Yes.” I sheathed Amaya.

“Then why do I smell blood?”

“I guess because I’m bleeding.”

“You guess? You, my dear, have been around Riley entirely too long.”

So people kept saying. “Which isn’t a bad thing when it taught me to survive situations like this.”

He squeezed out of the tunnel a damn sight more elegantly than either Jak or I had, and strode toward me. While no half-breed got the wings of the Aedh, many did inherit their mesmerizing looks, and Quinn was no exception. He was, in every way, angelic, from his beautiful face that was framed by night-dark hair to his well-toned body.

His dark gaze swept me, then moved on to Jak. What he thought of his presence I couldn’t say—Quinn was a very old vampire, and well practiced in keeping emotions contained.

Rather like Azriel, I thought absently.

“That may be the case, but she’s not going to be pleased that you not only failed to call in help but got wounded in the process.”

“It looks worse than it is,” I said, then remembered I was talking to a vampire. He’d know exactly how much blood I was losing. “And it’s not like you have to tell her.”

“As if anyone can hide secrets from that woman.” Undercurrents of amusement and love ran through the comment. He ripped the sleeve from his shirt, tore it into strips, then roughly bandaged my shoulder. “She already suspects the worst, given the rather frantic state your reaper was in when he appeared to fetch me here—”

“Azriel?” I interrupted, surprised. “Frantic?”

His gaze jumped to mine. “You didn’t send him?”

“No.” I hadn’t even heard from him, simply because the magic was still in place. They couldn’t stop our chi connection, however, so he would have understood the danger we were in. But frantic? He kne cant. Tw I had Amaya, and besides, while I’d seen him angry, I couldn’t imagine my often uptight reaper showing anything more than mild concern.

“Does that mean Riley’s here as well?”

“No, because I took Aedh form to get here fast.”

It also enabled him to get around the usual sunlight restriction, although as one of the old ones, he could actually stand huge amounts of daylight.

“So where is she?”

“Waiting at home, medi-kit in hand.” His gaze moved to Jak, and his voice lost some of its warmth as he added, “Are you all right?”

“There’s nothing a Band-Aid and a stiff drink won’t fix.” Amusement ran through Jak’s voice. He’d obviously noted the temperature change, too.

Quinn’s dark gaze swept the room, and narrowed slightly as it settled briefly on the pillars. He knows what they are, I thought. But he said nothing, and looked down at our captive instead. “Who’s this?”

“According to his ID, he’s either Henry Mack or Jason Marks, and he’s a Razan.”

His gaze leapt to mine again. “A Razan? Whose?”

“That, indeed, is the question.” I shrugged. “We suspect he was talking to his master before we knocked him out, but the number was blocked and we dare not call it back.”

A wry smile touched Quinn’s lips. “In other words, you want me to read his thoughts.”

“Well, yeah, that would be nice.”

Quinn considered me for a moment, then said, “As long as you agree to come back home with me, so Riley can reassure herself that you’re alive and well.”

“And then tell me off.”

“Undoubtedly. But seeing as you refuse to seek help from those of us who have more experience with things such as hellhounds, it’s well deserved.”

A point I didn’t argue with, although I could have. Easily. He and Riley had been through enough shit in their time together—they didn’t deserve to get hit with mine now that their life was relatively sane and quiet. Besides, I’d already lost my mom. I wasn’t about to lose anyone else I was close to. It was bad enough that I’d involved Ilianna and Tao as much as I had.

“You have a deal.”

He nodded, then glanced at Jak. It took me several moments to realize that awareness had slipped from Jak’s eyes.

I raised an eyebrow. “There was no need—”

“There was. You trust him too much.”

Yet another comment people kept making. “Jak’s under threat from Rhoan. Trust me, he’s not going to print anything without clearing it first through him.”

“And now he can’t even consider writing about it because he won’t even be aware of it.” He knelt beside the Razan and appeared to be doing nothing more than cng nt simply looking at him—although I knew from past experience that he was riffling through the man’s thoughts. Then his gaze met mine again. “An Aedh has been active in this man’s thoughts.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that while he knows the name and location of his master, any effort on my part to access it would immediately notify said master of the intrusion.”

“Well, damn.”

“Yes.” He paused. “It is possible to circumvent such blocks, but it takes time.”

“Which we don’t have. I suspect that if he doesn’t report back soon, it’ll make our quarry suspicious.”

“Which might just draw him out.”

“He’s not that type. He’s more likely to cover his tracks and start somewhere fresh.”

Although the ley intersection was near here, so he wasn’t likely to go too far from it. Still, we needed to avoid warning him just how close we were. “You can’t get anything useful from him at all?”

Quinn hesitated, and glanced down at the Razan again. “There’s three of them left. They live together in an old warehouse in Dawson Street, Brunswick West, and he’s more than a little pissed about running these sorts of errands when he was trained as a soldier. He believes he could take care of any intruders and be a hell of a lot less conspicuous about it than hellhounds.”

But hellhounds didn’t need to eat or drink or go to the toilet—they were on watch twenty-four/seven, until ordered otherwise.

“Where did he serve?” Although he didn’t look that old, Razan were linked to the life force of their masters and could live for centuries. Knowing which war might be handy to track down his real identity, because I very much doubted that the license and cards he carried were actually his.

Quinn hesitated. “He’s a Middle East army veteran. Retired about eighty-five years ago.”

Not very old in Razan terms at all. “And his name?”

“Mark Jackson. I can’t tell you at what point he became Razan, because that memory lies behind the shield.”

Damn. I squatted down beside the Razan, rolled him onto his side, and pointed to the barbwire tat. “Have you seen one like this before?”

Quinn shook his head. “But it is not usual for Raziq to mark their Razan with their own unique brand.”

“This particular brand has been seen on Razan who we are fairly certain belong to different masters.”

He half shrugged. “That is not unusual, either. There were Razan who served the Aedh priests at the gate temples who belonged to all. Maybe this tat signifies a joint venture of some kind.”

Which again lent weight to the idea that my father and this dark sorcerer were in cahoots, but I just didn’t think that was the case. Not now, at least.

Although it wasn’t like I could be sure of anything when it came to my parent c tohe i.

“What about the pillars?”

Quinn raised his eyebrows. “What about them?”

“Well, can you ferret out any information about them—where they go, how they operate, that sort of stuff?”

“I can tell you most of that.”

No surprise there, given his reaction—or lack of it—when he’d first seen them. “So you have seen pillars like this before?”

“Not exactly like these, no. But the writing on them is a variation of old cuneiform, and they were once used to summon Aedh.”

I blinked. “Really? Why?”

“To bless crops or hunts, to garner favors, and in some cases, to offer one of their own to gain the blessing of the gods.”

“But Aedh aren’t gods.” I could understand them being mistaken for angels, but gods?

“We know that, but the prehistoric world was a much simpler place.”

I guess. “But these pillars aren’t summoning devices. They appear to be some mode of transport.”

He nodded. “They are.”

“Can we use them?”

He half smiled. “No, we cannot.” He picked up the Razan’s wrist and pushed up his sleeves. On the inside of his arm was a small tat that was a mix of cuneiform and scrollwork. “The magic within this allows the wearer to pass through such gates. But even if we could pass through them, I wouldn’t let you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re still bleeding.” He cupped a hand under my elbow and carefully helped me to my feet. “If you bleed to death before Riley can give you a piece of her mind, there’ll be hell to pay.”

I snorted softly. Right now, him being chewed out by my aunt was the least of my worries. “What about Jak? And our captive?”

“I will give both appropriate memories. You start back through the tunnel.”

I hesitated, then did as he bid. It wasn’t very long before I heard them behind me, Jak cursing like a trooper as he once again scraped his way through the tunnel. Quinn had left rope dangling into the pit earlier, so even with my various aches and pains, it was fairly easy to climb out.

I’d barely crawled through the gap in the roller door when Azriel took my hands in his and gently pulled me upright.

He didn’t immediately say anything, just kept hold of my hands as his gaze swept me. His expression gave little away, but his anger and concern raged through my inner being, the sheer force of it rocking me back on my heels. Maybe Quinn hadn’t been overstating when he’d said Azriel had been frantic. And while that thought warmed me, the snarky voice deep within couldn’t help but note that if anything happened to me, his mission would fail. And in the end, his mission was everything.

“Y c LT. Buou cannot keep going like this,” he said eventually. “It will be the death of you.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to the bad guys who keep attacking us.” I pulled my hands from his, even though all I really wanted to do was step fully into his embrace and let the heat and warm strength of him melt into my bones and make me feel safe.

And I didn’t care if that feeling of safety was as temporary as the man himself.

“Ris—” He stopped.

I shifted briefly into Aedh form to stop the bleeding, then crossed my arms and regarded him steadily. “I’m glad you didn’t bother denying the temporary situation, Azriel, because really, how can you ever be anything else? Especially when you don’t want anything else?”

“You have no idea what I do and don’t want.” It was vehemently said.

“No,” I agreed. “But to be honest, I don’t really think you do, either.”

I resolutely turned away, suddenly too tired to get into a fight with him again. It didn’t help. Awareness of him whispered through me: the flex of his fingers, the slow release of breath, the close shimmer of heat as he reached for—but didn’t quite touch—me.

I know what I want, Risa. His thoughts ran through my mind like whiskey on a cold night—warm, and yet with an edge that bit. And for both our sakes, you had better hope I never decide to take it.

That sounds like a threat, reaper.

It is nothing more than honesty.

And as usual, you being honest doesn’t actually tell me a whole lot, does it? I shook my head slightly. One of these days, Azriel, you might just regret your reticence.

I do every day I’m in your presence. His words stabbed deep, but he continued relentlessly. But it cannot alter my actions. It will not.

No, because what he truly wanted was to become a soul guide again. And nothing, not this quest, and certainly not whatever this thing between us was, would divert him from his path. He’d never made any secret of it, either, but it was beginning to rankle me more and more.

Because I cared, more and more.

I was, I decided, an idiot.

I crossed my arms and watched Quinn and Jak crawl through the gap. Quinn kept within the shadows of the building, even though the midday sun had passed. Habit more than necessity, I thought.

“Shall I meet you back at your place?”

“Yes,” Quinn said.

“No,” said Jak.

I glanced at him, surprised. He waved the notepad in his hand. “I took note of the numbers in that man’s phone book, and I want to chase them down just in case our sorcerer starts covering his tracks again.”

“Good idea.” It also saved me the hassle of having to explain to cto . Riley his reemergence in my life. “You’ll call if you find anything?”

Jak snorted softly. “Like I have any other choice, given your uncle’s threat.”

I half smiled, and he gave me a sketchy farewell wave and headed back to his car. Once he was gone, I met Quinn’s gaze. “What does he remember?”

“Nothing more than my arrival, and me rearranging the Razan’s memories.”

At least he hadn’t rearranged all Jak’s memories.

“I wouldn’t,” he said mildly; then, as shock shivered through me, he smiled. “The micro-cells do provide some measure of protection against most vampires—even the ones as strong as Madeline Hunter—but they create little more than a mild barrier for someone as telepathically strong as me.”

“And Riley?” I asked, even though the answer was obvious. She was stronger than even him, after all.

His smile widened. Oh, fabulous, I thought, and pointlessly tried to remember everything I’d thought since his arrival. Undoubtedly he’d caught more than a few interesting ones—though generally, both Quinn and Riley had strict rules regarding mind reading, and rarely indulged in casual telepathy. According to Riley, the thoughts of most people weren’t worth it.

I cleared my throat, hoped I didn’t look as embarrassed as I felt, and said, “I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded, then melted into mist and disappeared. I shot Stane another quick note, asking him to add Mark Jackson to his search, and then Azriel’s arms were around me and we were whisking through the gray fields.

We reappeared in the middle of Aunt Riley’s living room. She was, as Quinn had said, waiting for us.

“About fucking time.” Her gaze swept over me and her expression became grim. “What the hell have you been tangling with?”

“Hellhounds.” I stepped free from Azriel. “There were two of them, and two of us.”

“Unfair odds in anyone’s book. Those bastards fight nasty.” She waved me toward the bathroom, then glanced at Azriel. “You can wait here. Or you could do something useful and help Quinn in the kitchen.”

The thought of Azriel making coffee struck me as funny, but he merely offered a short bow and headed for the kitchen. But then, very few people ever argued with Riley when she used that tone.

I stripped my clothing off as I walked into the bathroom, and dumped the bloodied remnants of it in the bin rather than the laundry chute.

Behind me, Riley sucked in a sharp breath. “What the hell happened to your back?”

I cursed mentally. I’d forgotten about the damn scar. “I fell off my bike and hit a pole.” Which was the truth, just not the reason for the scar. “Both the bike and I got smashed up pretty badly.”

“I can imagine.” Her tone was dry and suggested she didn’t believe my excuse, but she motioned me toward the shower without further comment. The water came on automat cme re aroundically as I entered, the water hot and the spray sharp and massaging. It felt sensational against my battered and bruised body.

“Who else was with you in that tunnel today? Azriel obviously wasn’t.”

I hesitated, but there was little point in lying. Especially since Quinn already knew. “Jak.”

“Have you lost brain cells or something?” There was an edge of incredulity in her voice. “Why the hell are you messing around with him again?”

“Because I needed someone who knew the streets and who could mix it up with street scum without raising suspicions.” I couldn’t quite hide my irritation. I’d really had enough of people questioning my judgment today. “He’s a source, nothing more.”

She studied me for a moment; then a warm grin broke loose. “Spoken like a true daughter of mine. Your mother would be horrified.”

I smiled. “She always did blame you for my wild ways.”

“Yeah, she did.” Her grin faded. “So tell me about the hellhounds.”

I did so. Once I was out of the shower, she sealed the few wounds that were still bleeding, patched up the rest, then fetched me some clean clothes. When I was dressed, she dragged me into her arms and hugged me fiercely.

“Ris, we’re here if you ever need help. Remember that.”

I blinked back sudden tears. “I know, but—”

“But you are incredibly stubborn and want to do things your way.” She stepped back, a slight smile twisting her lips. “You really could have been mine, we’re so damn alike. Which is why I’m reminding you. I don’t want you making the same mistakes I did.”

“I won’t.”

Her gaze searched mine for several seconds, and her smile become stronger. “You won’t seek help, you mean.” Her voice was wry. “Not unless you absolutely have to.”

I didn’t say anything. She laughed, then caught my hand and tugged me toward the living room. “Let’s go get you fed, before you fade away into nothing.”

I’d made it through three meat and salad sandwiches and was feeling a hell of a lot more sociable when the phone rang. The ringtone told me it was Rhoan, and trepidation tripped through me.

I swallowed to ease a suddenly dry throat, then hit the vid-phone’s ANSWER button. Rhoan’s expression was grim. “He’s made contact.”

“And?”

“We have a name—Vonda Belmore.”

I frowned. “Why would he give you her name? It makes the hunt far too easy.”

“Yeah, that’s what’s got us worried.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Where are you? chert>

I hesitated. “At your place.”

He groaned. “Don’t tell me Riley’s listening—”

“Yes, she is,” Riley said mildly, over my shoulder. “And she’s very interested in the reason why you’re involving Risa in Directorate business.”

“Because I have no other damn choice, that’s why. Look, I’ll explain everything later. Right now, we have a murderer to hunt, and Ris has to be in on it.”

“Is this something I can help with? I have more experience than Ris—”

“Yeah, but that’s not going to help in this case. She made contact with the killer on the astral plane before she knew we were after him, and now he won’t deal with anyone else.”

“He’s a murderer. He should be dead, not dealing with anyone, least of all Risa.”

“The problem is, he’s a fucking ghost and we can’t find him. We have to use Risa to have any hope of tracking him down, but trust me, we’ll take good care of her.”

“I trust you, Rhoan. I just don’t trust the killers you hunt.”

She squeezed my shoulder, then walked away, leaving me feeling warm deep inside. I might have lost my real mom, but in very many ways, I still had another.

“I’ll send you the address,” Rhoan said. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.”

“Will do.”

I hung up, then grabbed the last sandwich as I stood.

“To repeat myself, be careful,” Riley said, her expression concerned.

I smiled grimly. “As Azriel has already noted, I’ve lost more than enough blood for one day. I’m not intending to lose any more.”

“I don’t think it’s your intentions she’s concerned about,” Quinn noted.

I half smiled, then walked around the table, kissed them both, and said, “I’ll be fine. I won’t do anything stupid. I promise.”

And I hoped like hell it was a promise I could actually keep.

The address Rhoan sent me was for a small house in Campbellfield. It was off a busy main street, on one of those long blocks that had been subdivided years ago, with a second dwelling built at the back. That was the one we were interested in.

I sat on a brick fence on the opposite side of the road. The rumble of trucks and cars going past was so damn loud that the clatter of a helicopter overhead was almost lost to it. The air was an unpleasant mix of exhaust, rubber, and the various scents coming from the fast-food shops down the road, and my nose twitched against the need to sneeze.

I glanced at my watch. We still had a couple of minutes to wait, and frustration swirled through me. It was tempting—very tempting—to just head in myself, but I’d promised Riley to be careful an cbe instd that wasn’t exactly careful-type behavior. Besides, I wasn’t at the top of my game right now—in fact, a gnat could probably overpower me with very little effort. I needed sleep, and I needed more food despite everything I’d already eaten. But most of all, I needed the bad guys to be sensible and give me a break.

And seeing as I couldn’t control them in any way, shape, or form, I guessed the sensible had to come from me.

I sighed wearily and leaned against Azriel’s shoulder. He didn’t move, didn’t react, didn’t wrap his arm around me and pull me closer, but the skin-on-skin contact was still oddly comforting.

“Is there anyone inside?” I asked eventually.

“A woman, a man, and a child in the first house. No one alive in the second.” Amusement warmed his otherwise formal tones as he added, “And before you ask, there’s no one dead, either.”

“So if this is the next victim’s address, he might already have her.”

“That is more than possible.”

I glanced left as a black Ford turned into the street. Rhoan. Given the Directorate plates, it couldn’t be anyone else.

The car slid to a halt in front of us. There were two men inside, but only Rhoan climbed out. He didn’t look happy.

The trepidation that had been up until now little more than a muted background buzz suddenly sharpened. I straightened. “What’s up?”

“This whole setup. He’s deviating from his previous MO and I’m not liking the possible reason.”

“You think it’s some sort of trap?”

“It can’t be anything else,” he growled. “We’ve done a quick background check on Vonda. She turned vamp about one hundred years ago, and has been leading a relatively low-profile life ever since. She works the night shift at the Ford vehicle factory in Broadmeadows and doesn’t socialize much.”

I frowned. “What about feeding? How does she cope with that if she doesn’t socialize much?”

He shrugged. “She probably uses synth blood. They’ve gotten better at manufacturing it in recent years.”

A fact he knew because his vampire half sometimes demanded blood, even if he didn’t have the teeth to go with the hunger. “So Vonda has nothing in common with the other victims?”

“Other than that she seems the least likely target for a serial killer, no.” He spun around and studied the houses on the opposite side of the road. “She lives with her sister, who also works at Ford. We had an infrared-equipped helicopter sweep the area a few moments ago. There’s three people in the first house, but no one is at home in our target house.”

He was half vampire and had infrared vision himself, so he didn’t really need the helicopter to tell him that. Maybe he just didn’t want to get too close to the house and spook our quarry—not that he was inside from the sound of it.

“It’s not much of a trap if there’s no one inside.”

ont>

"2em">Rhoan glanced at me. “Just because we can’t detect any form of body heat doesn’t mean there’s nothing waiting.”

Like a spell of some kind. I shivered and rubbed my arms. “What did he say when he rang?”

“He gave us the name, and said for you to be in the house—alone—by two p.m. if we wish to save his next victim.”

I glanced at my watch again. “Then I’d better get moving. We’ve only got a few minutes left.”

“I know.” He studied me, expression worried. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

I touched his arm. “I’m fine. Azriel will be with me, and he can’t afford to let anything happen to me.”

Rhoan’s gaze went past me briefly. “Okay. But you’re wearing these, so I know what is going on.”

He pulled two blue stones out of his pocket, and I studied them with interest. “I’m gathering they’re not just earrings.”

“One is a camera, the other is a mic. Until this case is over, I want you to wear them.”

My gaze jumped to his. “Um, you know I love you and all, but there’s certain parts of my life I have no desire for you to see or hear.”

“And I’m sure I wouldn’t want to know about them, either.” Amusement briefly crinkled the corners of his gray eyes. “You can turn them off easily enough—you just press the left stone once. Two presses activates them again.”

“What about when I shower? Do I have to take them off?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He pressed the two stones onto my earlobes. They had to be some form of nanotechnology, because the stones warmed the instant they touched my skin, and they clung to my earlobes without anything to actually secure them. He lightly squeezed the right stone, then stepped back. “Karl, you getting the picture?”

“Yeah,” the man inside the car said. “Sound, too.”

“Good.” His gaze came back to me. “At the first sign of trouble, I’ll be in there.”

“I’ll be fine. Really.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t worried about my ability to protect myself; he just didn’t want to see me hurt.

I headed across the road. My gaze swept the first building, but came to a halt at the security camera.

“Azriel, you might want to become invisible.”

He did so immediately, then said, You suspect he might have hacked into the security system?

Well, not him specifically if he’s blind, but someone working for him certainly could. It’s safer for me if they don’t know about you.

You’re considering your own safety? His mental tones held an edg cs h tae. This has to be a first.

Sarcasm doesn’t become you, reaper. Even if it was true.

I walked down the side of the first house. Though I couldn’t see anyone, the curtains twitched, a clear indication that someone was watching.

It is the woman, Azriel commented. He hesitated, then added, Her thoughts are odd.

Odd how? I scanned the second house as it came into sight. There was another security camera perched on the side of this house and metal protection bars on the windows. Obviously Vonda and her sister didn’t trust either their neighbors or the neighborhood.

They are vacant. It is like she has nothing else to do but look out the window.

Maybe she hasn’t. Or maybe she’s been made to take something. I doubted her behavior was a coincidence, given the reason we were here.

I rounded the corner of the first house and headed for the front door of the second. The security door was thick and heavy, just like the bars on the windows. I twisted the handle and it opened, as did the wooden front door. My stomach began to churn. This was way too easy.

Possibly, Azriel said, and it took me a mental moment to remember what he was replying to.

What about the man and the child in that house? Are they okay? I pushed the door open with my fingertips. The air inside was fresh and cool, and ran with the scent of femininity.

They sleep. He paused. Deeply.

Something in the way he said that had me looking around before I remembered he wasn’t actually visible. What do you mean?

Just that it does not appear to be a natural form of sleep.

So they’re all drugged up? I took a cautious step inside.

I do not know much about drugs, but as I have said, this sleep is not natural.

And he didn’t like it, which no doubt meant there was something wrong. Something we should check out.

I stopped just inside the door, my bottom lip caught between my teeth as my gaze swept the room. The furnishings—though sparse—were of good quality. The main living area was L-shaped, with a kitchen tucked in the shorter end of the room. There was a hallway to my right, with a number of doors leading off it.

I couldn’t see anything out of place, nor could I hear anything or anyone. Which I guess wasn’t surprising; Azriel had already said there was no one here. I flexed my fingers, then headed into the hallway. A quick check revealed two bedrooms—one messier than the other—a bathroom, and a small laundry with a door leading out into an even smaller courtyard. There was nothing odd to be found, and no sense that Vonda had, in any way, feared for her life.

But then, neither had Dorothy Hendricks, and our hunter had been bleeding her to death here while burning a brand into her forehead on the astral plane.

I retreated back through the living room and went into the kitchen. It was small, neat, and filled with the latest in cookware—which was an odd thing for a vampire to have.

I crossed my arms and walked over to the front window, staring at the back of the first house. The back door was ajar and there was no security or wire door in place. Which seemed odd with a small child in the house, even if he was asleep.

Is the woman still standing where she was? I asked.

She has not moved since we appeared on the other side of the street.

Which was not normal behavior. Not for the mother of a small child. Sitting, I could understand. Even catching a nap. But simply standing there like a zombie? I’m sure looking after a young child made mothers the world over sometimes feel like the rambling dead, but this was definitely something stranger.

I swung around and headed for the front door. “Rhoan, I’m going to talk to the people in the first house, and see if they can tell me about Vonda’s recent movements.”

“Be careful.” His voice reverberated inside my earlobes and made me jump. I hadn’t actually realized the connection was two-way. Which meant he could tell me off if I did something wrong—just what I needed.

I crossed the little patch of sunshine between the two houses, then pressed my fingertips against the rear door and carefully opened it. The small laundry was filled with clothes—some in clean stacks on top of the washer, others in sorted piles on the floor. The door of the front loader was ajar, and half filled with dark clothing. She’d obviously been in the middle of loading when she’d decided to move into the living room and stare out the window.

Odder and odder.

I stepped over the piles and stopped at the next doorway. The only sound to be heard was the gentle ticking of a clock coming from the right. The air was rich with the scent of humanity, but underneath it ran something else—something sharper.

Fear.

Tension tightened through me. I flexed my shoulders, but it did as little as flexing my fingers had earlier. To the left was a hallway with several doors leading off it. If the layout of this house was similar to the other, then they’d be the bathroom and bedrooms. I hesitated, then padded softly to the first door and carefully pushed it open. A small child lay still and silent on a cot. For a moment I thought he was dead, and it felt like someone had punched me in the gut. Then I noted the slow rise and fall of his chest. Asleep, as Azriel had said. Whether it was natural or something else was the question that needed to be answered.

I closed the child’s bedroom door and stared at the next one. Though I had no doubt that the father would also be asleep, I couldn’t escape the notion that I had to check. That I had to confirm whether this sleep was natural.

Of course, if it was, I’d feel like a complete and utter idiot. Not to mention how furious he’d be about being woken by a complete stranger.

Trust your instincts, Azriel commented. There is something odd here, as I have said. Their minds have been . . . to cp;.t youched, although whether by drugs or telepathic intervention, I cannot say.

But you usually can sense it, so why not here? I walked to the other bedroom door and opened it. A fully clothed man lay stretched out on the queen-sized bed, his hands—resting on his chest—rising and falling with each breath.

If this is telepathic interference, it is only very minor, and that is often hard to catch or define.

Meaning what? That someone has simply forced them to sleep? Why in the hell would anyone want that?

He didn’t answer, but I really wasn’t expecting him to. I walked over to the bed and lightly touched the man’s shoulder. He didn’t react in any way.

I pinched his cheek. Nothing. I pinched harder, but the result was the same. This definitely wasn’t a natural sleep. “You seeing this, Rhoan?”

“Yeah. And I’m liking it a whole lot less. Check the third person.”

I spun and headed down to the kitchen. It was less tidy than Vonda’s, with baby bottles in various states of cleanliness scattered over the sink and a half-made sandwich sitting on the counter.

I kept walking into the living room. The woman was still standing at the side window, but as I entered, she slowly turned to face me.

Shock hit like a hammer, and I stopped.

Burned into the woman’s forehead was a raw and bleeding K-shaped mark.

It was the exact same mark that had been burned into Dorothy Hendricks’s forehead just before she’d died.