Darkness Splintered

Chapter 6

Demon, I thought, then found myself thrown out of the way. I hit the polished floorboards with a grunt, but rolled back to my feet and drew Amaya.

And none too soon.

A second creature came out of nowhere, oddly reminding me of a thick, hairy carpet with limbs, and barreled straight at me, its tusklike teeth bared. I swore, jumped sideways, and swung Amaya hard. The creature was big – both in height and in width – but it was surprisingly nimble, and the blade hit nothing but air.

The creature swung a paw the size of a shovel, its long fur streaming out behind it like banners. I ducked under the blow, twisted around, and sliced the back of its tendons. Blood spurted – thick, green, and stinking to high heaven – but it didn’t go down. Instead it jumped high, did a midair tumble, and came down behind me – a maneuver that took barely an instant. I stabbed backward with Amaya, then leapt away. But the creature’s thick fingers caught the hem of my dress and dragged me back toward it. I swore again and lashed at it over my head. Shadowed steel met hairy face, and split its skin from eye to chin. Flames leapt from Amaya’s sides and danced across the creature’s face, attacking its eyes and filling the air with the thick scent of burning flesh and hair. The creature howled and flicked me sideways, as if I were nothing more than a feather. I hit a kitchen cabinet with another grunt, but scrambled upright fast as the creature charged me again. Amaya’s flames had engulfed its entire head, so I had no idea whether it could see me or not, but I wasn’t about to take a chance. I called to the Aedh and swiftly changed, then moved around behind the creature. Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on the arm that held Amaya and brought it back into being. Then I swung my sword, as hard as I could, at the creature’s neck.

Amaya hissed as she slid easily through flesh and bone alike, her sparks and the creature’s blood flying all around me. As her steel came free, the creature’s head rolled sideways from its neck and dropped to the floor with a wet splat. A second later its body followed. I re-formed, somehow keeping to my feet even as my head swam and bile rose up my throat, and swung around.

There were two dead creatures at Azriel’s feet, and a heartbeat later a third joined them. He spun, Valdis blazing in his hand, his gaze sweeping the room. There were bloody rents across his right shoulder and thigh, but neither wound looked particularly deep.

His gaze met mine, and the tension in his shoulders eased. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” I hesitated, eyes widening a little as my stomach rose. “Make that a no.”

I bolted for the sink. Azriel was beside me in an instant, and though he offered no comfort, his closeness was enough.

“To repeat my earlier question,” he said, once I’d finished throwing up. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” I turned on the tap, scooped up some water, and rinsed out my mouth. “But if I’m going to spend the next nine months throwing up my dinner every time a bad guy carks it, I’m going to be royally pissed.”

“So this is a result of the pregnancy?” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ears, his touch warm against my skin.

“Probably.” I gave him a twisted half smile. “I can remember Mom saying she did nothing but throw up in the first trimester. And given that I’ve generally managed to hold on to my stomach when a bad guy has gone splat, it’s a good bet that being pregnant is the problem.”

“And is this” – he motioned toward the sink, his expression bemused – “a common problem with nonhuman females? Because it does not seem very efficient to me.”

I grinned. “Is that how reapers go through pregnancy? Efficiently?”

“Of course. It benefits the mother and the child to do so.”

“Well, this mother has always had problems with efficiency.”

“I know.” He raised my chin with one gentle finger and dropped a kiss on my nose. “It is one of the reasons I find you fascinating.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not entirely sure I’m happy to be called ‘fascinating.’ Especially when there are lots of other adjectives I’d much rather hear.”

His warm smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and made my heart do happy little tumbles. “Would ‘enthralling’ be better? Or ‘captivating’?”

“They’re a start,” I said primly. Then I waved a hand at the creatures. “What were they?”

“Some form of lower demon, though not one I’ve come across before.” His smile faded, and the room seemed cooler for its loss. “The fact they were here and waiting suggests our sorceress has fled. It is doubtful we will find anything of use.”

“Probably, but we should still look.”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.” He paused and sheathed Valdis. “Perhaps we should start upstairs, in her bedroom. That is where she kept her tools of trade.”

I pushed away from the bench and led the way to the stairs. “Which she’ll undoubtedly have taken if she has fled.”

“Undoubtedly. But she might have left in a rush, so it is always possible she has forgotten something.”

“She had a three-day head start, thanks to the fact I was drowning my sorrows rather than doing what I should have been.” My voice was heavy with annoyance – at myself, at my stupidity for acting without thinking. It’s what had allowed Hunter to get her claws in me, and it’s the reason Azriel had been scarred —

“Risa, enough.” He caught my hand and tugged me toward him. “Neither of us can change what has already happened. We can only affect the future. As for acting without thinking —” He paused, and his sudden smile just about melted my heart. “It is one of the things I adore about you. Please never lose it, because there has been far too little spontaneity in my life until you came along.”

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away and hugged him fiercely. “Thank you,” I whispered, my breath stirring his dark hair.

He gently kissed the nape of my neck. “For what?”

“For just being you. And for coming back.”

“It is not logical to thank me for being me. I can hardly be anyone else.”

Laughter rolled through me. I pulled back, dropped a quick kiss on his lips, and said, “That’s not exactly true given you can look like anyone you wish.”

“Ah, but you only ever see my true form, and I’m extremely thankful you happen to desire it. I’d hate to spend eternity attempting to look like someone else.”

“But it could certainly put a new spin on sexual dress-ups.” I turned and headed up the stairs. “And don’t ask why anyone would want to dress up for sex, because this is neither the time nor the place to explain.”

“I agree, but the concept is intriguing.”

“And much fun.”

The master bedroom was twice the size of mine and, like the rest of the place, pin-neat – almost sterile. The first time I’d been in here there’d been little evidence that anyone actually used this room, despite the clothes in the vast walk-in wardrobe and the pair of intricately carved Chinese sideboards that had sat in the middle of the wardrobe and radiated magic. A magic I had not wanted to go near.

My gaze swept the bedroom but little had changed other than the faint layer of dust now coating most of the shiny surfaces. It was obviously the maid’s week off.

I walked across to the wardrobe, pushed open the double doors, and discovered emptiness. All the designer shoes and dresses, all the expensive but old-fashioned men’s suits and shirts, everything was gone. As were the sideboards. Only the magic they’d held lingered, skittering across my skin like mites, stinging lightly.

“Well, shit.” I stopped several feet inside the room and thrust my hands on my hips. “Looks like we’re late to the party again.”

And while Azriel might have told me to stop with the self-recrimination, this was definitely my fault. If I’d pulled my finger out instead of wallowing in self-pity, Lauren might not have escaped us so easily.

“She may have fled this place, but she will not have gone too far. She is too involved in whatever the other dark sorcerer has planned to run.”

I glanced at him. “You read her mind?”

“No. But she obviously held Lucian’s full confidence, and the standing stone we found in that storage locker ultimately led here. That suggests deep involvement.”

“I guess it’s unfortunate the locker is destroyed.” As was the woman who’d rented it. She’d been caught in the blast that had razed the entire building and killed at least a half dozen other people.

Of course, while I had no doubt that the body found in the smoking ruins of that storage locker did belong to Genevieve Sands, the question that had to be answered was, was it the same Genevieve Sands we’d seen exiting the place, or had we interviewed someone who’d assumed her identity?

“The stone at the storage place might have been destroyed, but it is possible the one at the Razan’s place remains,” Azriel commented.

I frowned. “Would the Razan still be alive given Lucian is dead?”

“If they were Lucian’s Razan, then no, they would not.”

“We should check.”

“Yes.” His gaze met mine, his expression holding an echo of the frustration that ran through me. “It is also possible Stane was able to get surveillance in here.”

“Possibly. I want to see him anyway, because I want to check the surveillance tapes for the storage unit.”

Azriel frowned. “Why?”

“Something the receptionist said before she died strikes me as odd.”

“She didn’t say much before she died.”

“She might not have said much, but she did say, ‘You changed again.’” I met his gaze. “Why would she say that? The only other time she saw me was when we went in there to check out the storage locker that first time, and I’d face-shifted, so it wasn’t even me she was seeing.”

“That is true,” Azriel said. “But you are not the only face shifter in Melbourne. And remember, the sorcerer is more than likely a face shifter.”

“Yeah, but he’s male. He shouldn’t be able to take on the form of a female.”

“‘Shouldn’t’ doesn’t mean he can’t.”

Unfortunately, that was all too true. I scanned the room a final time, and caught sight of something glinting at the base of the wardrobe that had held all the men’s clothing.

Frown deepening, I walked over and bent to pick it up. It was an elongated, hexagon-shaped cuff link, the setting thick gold that bore intricate scrollwork with a huge sapphire dominating its center. I didn’t know much about cuff links, but I knew my stones, and this one was worth a fortune. It wasn’t new, either, because the fixed back showed signs of wear. I turned it around. Two initials – RJ – and underneath the letters sat what looked like a half-moon. I held it up so Azriel could see it.

He raised an eyebrow. “And this will help us how?”

“It’s handmade, and there’s a maker’s mark on the back.” I tucked it into my purse. “If we can track the maker down, then maybe they could give us the details of the person they sold them to.”

It was a long shot, but long shots were all we really had.

“Shall we head to the Razans’ place next?”

“I guess.” I walked back across the room. “What will we do if the Razan are alive, though?”

“We question them.” Azriel wrapped his arms around me again. “If they are alive, then someone else made them. And that might imply there is another Aedh involved, one we have not yet sighted.”

I glanced up and met his gaze. “Do you really think that’s possible?”

“No. But I am not about to discount the possibility given – as you have often noted – the lack of help coming from the fates’ hands.”

His energy whirled through us, snapping us through the fields so fast I almost felt out of breath when we re-formed.

I didn’t immediately move, remaining locked in Azriel’s embrace as I breathed deep, tasting the various scents in the air, searching for any sign or smell of the Razan. Or anyone else, for that matter.

All I smelled was death.

“That is because the Razan lie dead in this place.”

I stepped back, my gaze sweeping the room. We’d reappeared in the small but tidy kitchen. There were dishes piled up on the drainer and ants crawling all over the small bag of rubbish that was sitting on the counter. It’d been neatly tied, as if ready for someone to pick it up and take it to the bin. Outside, in the small paved courtyard, water sprayed high into the air, splattering both the pond and its surrounds and making the water lilies dance about. The two cuneiform-etched stones that had stood in the middle of the pond were gone.

“That is not surprising,” Azriel said. “Our sorceress would not want them found.”

“I’m not sure why she’d bother. I mean, they only led to her place on the Gold Coast, and it wasn’t like anyone other than an Aedh could use them.”

“The Razan could use them – the one who set the hellhounds on you in that tunnel wore a device on his wrist, remember. And Lauren would not have wasted energy on such devices without being able to use them herself.” He pressed a hand against my spine and ushered me forward. “The bodies lie in the bedrooms.”

Fabulous not, as my sword would say. I blew out a breath and hoped like hell my stomach would behave itself if their deaths were mucky. As it turned out, they weren’t.

We found one body in the first of three bedrooms off the hall. Just as he had been the last time I’d come here, the Razan was sprawled stomach down on the bed. The blankets were twisted around his legs, leaving part of his butt and his back uncovered. He was muscular and thickset – the body of a wrestler rather than a sprinter – and his skin lightly tanned. He had two tattoos on the upper part of his shoulders – one of a dragon with two swords crossed above it and the other a ring of barbed wire. Lucian’s mark, and probably my father’s.

He looked for all the world like he was asleep, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t moving, he wasn’t breathing. And he was beginning to smell.

My stomach stirred and I stopped. Azriel walked over to the Razan and lightly pressed his fingertips to either side of the man’s temples. Energy whisked around me, fierce and bright, but no images rose from the Razan’s mind.

“He died when Lucian died,” Azriel said grimly. “There is nothing left in his mind to help. The resonance of his memories has faded.”

“He probably wouldn’t have been able to help us much anyway. Lucian would have ensured his Razan would never betray him.”

“Him, yes, but it is questionable whether he would have offered the same sort of protection to Lauren. Or anyone else who might have used the cuneiform stones.”

“True.” I turned and headed down the hall to check the other bedrooms. One contained the second body and the other was empty. The cuneiform stones that had stood in the third bedroom had disappeared as completely as their kin in the courtyard. “I wonder where the other Razan are?”

“Undoubtedly lying dead somewhere,” Azriel said. “And if we’re very lucky, perhaps those misbegotten shifters that have attacked us both times we attempted to get the keys have suffered the same fate.”

I shot him a glance. “Why would they? It was dark magic that created them, not Aedh.”

Amusement briefly touched his lips. “I did say if we were lucky.” He held out a hand. “There is nothing more we can do here. Shall we move on to Stane’s?”

“I think we should search the place first. Maybe we’ll find something helpful.”

“I very much doubt it.”

But he helped me search regardless, and we found exactly what he’d expected – nothing.

This time, when he held out a hand, I allowed him to tug me into his embrace. I suppose I should have called the Directorate – or at least Uncle Rhoan – to report these deaths, but I really wasn’t up to facing all the questions that would undoubtedly follow. Besides, it would take far too much time, and we didn’t have enough of that left as it was.

We appeared inside Stane’s electronics shop in Clifton Hill. The camera above us immediately buzzed into action, swinging around to track 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. Azriel could – and had, in the past – delivered us upstairs, where Stane’s computer “bridge” and living quarters were, but Stane had just about had a heart attack at our sudden appearance.

“Hey, Stane, it’s Risa and Azriel.” I smiled up at the camera. “Turn off the shield so we can come up.”

“Your wish is my command.” His warm tones had a tinny sound as it echoed from the small speaker near the camera. The shimmer surrounding us flared briefly, then died. “And thank you for the case of champagne you sent. It makes late night gaming all that much more enjoyable.”

I snorted softly and headed for the stairs at the rear of his overcrowded, dusty shop. “I would have thought alcohol and serious gaming didn’t mix.”

“Depends on who you’re playing with.” He appeared at the top of the stairs, his grin wide. “And if there’s a bet involving sexual games on the line. Letting her win wouldn’t be a bad thing in this particular case.”

I laughed, bounded up the steps, and kissed his cheek. Stane looked a lot like his building – a slender, unholy mess. I’m actually surprised he didn’t carry a layer of dust over his clothes like the building itself – although it was only the street level portion of the building that had that particular problem, and it didn’t really matter, because the computer shop itself was little more than a front for his black marketeering. And that equipment, like his computer bridge, was kept upstairs in pristine condition.

“Don’t tell me the lovely Holly was brave enough to challenge you to a game?”

Holly was a werewolf Stane had reluctantly met at the insistence of his mother – and hers. And, to everyone’s surprise but their respective mothers, fireworks had apparently happened.

“Not only that, but she’s been here, and she didn’t try to dust the place.” He stepped back and ushered us through to his living area. “I think I’m in love.”

“Certainly sounds like you’re smitten,” I said. “But is she aware that you don’t wash or iron?”

“I wash most days,” he said, expression offended but amusement dancing across his lips. “It’s only when I’m deep in a game that I don’t – something she’d understand because she’s a gamer herself. I tell you, she’s perfect.”

I grinned. “So your mom was right, after all.”

He grunted as he sat down in front of the curving sweep of light screens. “Something I am not going to tell her until I absolutely have to. The gloating will be horrendous. What can I do for you?”

“Did you and your friend in Brisbane happen to get the surveillance up and running on Lauren Macintyre’s Gold Coast place?”

“Certainly did.” He grinned, swung around in his chair, and lightly swiped several icons on the screen directly in front of him. Boxed images tiled onto the screen to his left. “Nothing much actually happens until this one.”

He leant sideways and flicked one of the small boxes over to another screen. Lauren Macintyre jumped into view, impeccably dressed in what had to be a designer dress and shoes. She stood in the middle of the bedroom, and barked out orders to the half-dozen men moving a steady stream of boxes piled high with her designer dresses and shoes out of the wardrobe, taking them god knows where.

“When was this recorded?” I narrowed my eyes and leaned closer to the screen. There was something not quite right with those men…

“Four days ago now,” Stane replied.

So she’d packed up and left before Lucian had died.

Suggesting, Azriel commented, that she somehow discovered your intrusion into her house. Perhaps that is why the storage place was also destroyed.

Yes. The bitch had been covering her tracks and finding a new hole to hide in – although undoubtedly it was a luxurious hole. She didn’t seem the three-star type, that was for sure.

“Have you tried to identify any of the men?” I asked Stane.

“I’ve done a run through VicRoads’s databases,” he said, “but couldn’t come up with a license match for any of them. I’m currently hacking into police files to see if I can find a match there somewhere.”

One of the men on the screen turned to face the camera and shock coursed through me. It was one of the half-human, half-animal beings that had attacked us at the Military Fair when the second key had been stolen from under our noses.

And if Lauren was using them, then she was more tied up with the dark sorcerer than we’d figured.

“Fuck it all to hell,” I muttered.

“To put it politely.” Azriel’s voice was grim. “Perhaps she is the reason the beings of those men are so twisted and unnatural. It would take a great deal of dark magic to so alter flesh and soul. More, perhaps, than one person – however strong a sorcerer – has.”

I shot him a glance. “Could not the same be said for the ley-line gate? Perhaps it took all three of them to create it.” I hesitated. “If that is the case, would Lucian’s death have altered their ability to use it?”

“I am no expert on magic,” Azriel said. “But I suspect it would not. The ley-line gate might have been created by a coalition, but I have no doubt they would have ensured it drew its power from the ley intersection itself. No human could create – even through black magic – enough magic to keep a portal onto the fields active for long.”

“Damn.” So much for the hope that Lucian’s death might have some benefit other than just permanently getting the bastard out of my life.

I glanced at Stane, who had a somewhat bemused expression on his face. But then, while he was familiar with our key search, he had no idea what we were talking about when it came to the magic-twisted half shifters. And I didn’t bother enlightening him. “Do you still have access to the security cam records of that storage place in Clifton Hill?”

“Yes, but didn’t that place blow up?”

I nodded. “I want to have a look at the hours between you first contacting me about Genevieve Sands entering the building and the building blowing up.”

“Sure thing.” He grinned. “But you can make me a coffee and something to eat while I hunt them down again.”

“Deal.” I pushed to my feet and made us both a toasted Vegemite and cheese sandwich – he didn’t have much else in his fridge – and by the time I’d deposited both that and a mug of coffee in front of Stane, he’d found the records and had relayed them to another screen.

I pulled up a chair and watched as I munched on my meal.

“What are we looking for?” Stane said, as he scooted his chair next to mine.

“Me.”

He blinked and looked confused. “Why are we looking for you? Don’t you remember going there?”

I grinned. “Yes. But something the receptionist said to me before she died —”

“You were in there when the place exploded?” Stane interrupted, his voice incredulous. “Are you insane?”

“That is a much debated point,” Azriel commented dryly.

The peanut gallery can keep those sort of remarks to themselves, I said, amused.

I will restrain the urge to say that comment makes no sense.

Grin growing, I said to Stane, “I was. Someone had to check whether the explosion had destroyed that locker we were interested in.”

“Which it did.” He took a sip of coffee. “So what did the receptionist say that tweaked your radar?”

“Not much, just ‘You changed again.’”

“As you said, not much.”

“No. But when she saw me the first time, I’d face-changed. So why would she say something like that when it was actually the first time she’d seen the real me?”

“It could have been shock,” Stane mused. “Or maybe the person who blew up the place was a vampire. They’ve been known to play hard and fast with other people’s memories when it suits their purposes.”

“True, but what interest would a vampire have in blowing up that place? And why make the receptionist think it was me going in there?”

“It could have been someone from the council,” Azriel said. “Perhaps Hunter wanted to know firsthand what we were doing in there.”

“She has the Cazadors following me around twenty-four seven. Any one of them could have checked astrally rather than physically, and no one would have been the wiser.”

“But Hunter also has enemies on the council,” Azriel noted. “Perhaps Stanford has a desire to discover what lay in that storage unit for himself.”

“Why would he have someone use my image, though?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

“Whoever this person impersonating you is,” Stane commented, “they don’t necessarily have to be a face shifter. Actors have been changing the shape of their faces and bodies for years with makeup, padding, and stuff.”

“True, but in this case, unlikely.”

“But two sorcerers and two face shifters?” Stane said. “That’s pushing the coincidences, don’t you think?”

Probably. I took a sip of coffee as I watched the images scroll across the screen. Hoddle Street was awash with cars, but there wasn’t a lot of foot traffic. Which was good, I guess – it would make spotting the fake me easier. If there was a fake me, and I wasn’t just grabbing at straws.

“If it is a coincidence, then yes,” Azriel commented. “But Lucian’s plans were centuries in the making. It is entirely possible he brought both sorcerers into this quest not only because they were powerful, but because their abilities would make it difficult for anyone to track them down.”

“There is one other possibility,” Stane said, as he bent to put his now empty plate on the floor under his desk.

I raised an eyebrow. “And that is?”

“That you’re dealing with shifters capable of full-body shifts,” he said. “Hell, there might only be one shifter, not two, and he or she is able to take on both male and female form.”

I wrinkled my nose. “We did think of that, but full-body shifters are extremely rare. And I’ve never heard of any shifter being able to change their sex.”

“Hermaphrodites are rare, but they can and do exist. What if we were dealing with one of those?”

If we were dealing with a hermaphrodite capable of full shifting, then heaven help us, because they’d be next to impossible to find.

“It could explain why Nadler listed Harry Bulter, Jim O’Reilly, and Genevieve Sands in his will,” Stane continued. “He was hedging his bets and relying on the fact that most people think shifters are human-to-animal capable, not human-to-human.”

Nadler was the man behind the company who’d purchased most of the properties surrounding the ley-line intersection. In fact, only Stane’s shop and the pub down the road remained independent. He was also, more than likely, one of the sorcerers.

I glanced at Stane briefly. “So have you found either Bulter or O’Reilly?”

Stane shook his head. “No. And I’ve been keeping an eye on the solicitors handling his estate – they haven’t tracked them down, either.”

“Well, they have to have existed at some point, because Nadler couldn’t just appear out of nowhere as one of them and expect to be handed everything on a platter.”

“Totally,” Stane said. “Which is why I’ve been searching overseas databases. Not having much luck, though.”

That seemed to be the story of this whole damn quest. I sighed and continued watching the images scroll across the screen as the time in the left-hand corner of the screen counted down toward the explosion at the storage place. At the twenty-minutes-before mark, my double strolled into view.

“Well,” Stane said. “You were right.”

Yes. And it was somewhat disturbing to look at the woman on the screen, knowing the face and body were the image of mine but someone else was inside the shell. Hell, she was even dressed like I was most of the time these days, in blue jeans and a tank top. My gaze skimmed down to her feet.

“Holy shit, the shoes.”

I leaned forward so abruptly that coffee splashed over the rim of my mug and splattered onto my legs. I swore and jumped up, spilling yet more coffee. Azriel plucked the mug from my hand – thereby preventing more damage to either me or Stane’s floor – while I quickly pulled the soaked dress away from my skin to prevent further burning.

“You okay?” Stane asked. “Do you want a cloth or something?”

“I’m fine,” I said, flapping the dress a little to cool it down. “Just freeze the screen and enlarge her feet.”

He did so. “I don’t see anything special about the shoes, aside from the fact they’re kinda ugly.”

“What’s special about them,” I said, “is the fact I not only saw those same shoes on Genevieve Sands when we were talking to her outside the storage place earlier in the day, but in one of the boxes those shifters were moving out of Lauren Macintyre’s wardrobe.”

“Thereby confirming she is indeed our face shifter,” Azriel murmured.

“I wouldn’t call a pair of shoes a defining piece of evidence,” Stane said. “It’s not like a thousand other women couldn’t have had the same bad taste.”

“Agreed, but I just can’t buy the coincidence factor in this particular case.”

“But you’d think someone canny enough to be involved in the planning of this gate-creation and key-stealing venture would be smart enough to remember to change a pair of shoes when she was changing identity.”

“Not if the decision to impersonate Risa and blow up the storage unit was a decision made in haste after we’d confronted her outside that building,” Azriel commented.

“I still wouldn’t bank my fortune on the evidence of one pair of shoes,” Stane said.

“Perhaps she just didn’t think anyone would notice them.” After all, from what Aunt Riley had said over the years, witnesses often had trouble agreeing on what suspects looked like, let alone the smaller details of what they were wearing, like shoes.

Stane studied the image frozen onto the screen for a moment. “Suspecting this shifter is both Sands and Macintyre doesn’t actually leave us any closer to finding any of them.”

“No.” I stood up and began to pace. “How the hell are we going to find someone who can change their features at will?”

“Your only real hope is to chase the paper trail,” Stane said. “Both Macintyre and Sands own properties. Perhaps our best bet is to track both purchases, and see if there’s a common link. Maybe a company they both went through or something.”

I nodded. It was probably a long shot, but it was better than doing nothing. “While you’re doing that, check for a bloke named Michael Greenfield or a company called Pénombre Manufacturing. They own an empty warehouse in Maribyrnong that just happens to be sitting on another ley line. Jak” – I hesitated as tears stung my eyes again; I blinked them away and cleared my throat before continuing – “wasn’t able to find much about them.”

“Will do.”

I glanced at Azriel. “In the meantime, we should go search Genevieve Sands’s place. Maybe she hasn’t had the chance to clear it out yet.”

“Unlikely,” Azriel said, his expression grim. “She blew up the storage unit hours after we talked to her, remember. It is doubtful she’d risk remaining in Prahan, given she undoubtedly knows about Stane and his computer skills, thanks to her association with the Aedh.”

“God,” I muttered, “the bastard is dead and he’s still causing us problems.”

“And will no doubt continue to do so until both sorcerers are dealt with.”

Dealt with – the polite way of saying dead. Not that I was, in any way, doubting the necessity of it.

I sighed and walked back to Azriel. “You’ll let us know if you find anything useful,” I said to Stane.

He nodded. “I’ll also check if the autopsy results are ready on the body parts found in the locker. If it was Genevieve Sands, then at least it basically confirms the shifter theory.”

Because it wasn’t Genevieve who’d walked back into that building just before the blast, but a shifter wearing my face. And it was a wonder the police hadn’t contacted me about the events – unless, of course, Uncle Rhoan was running interference with them.

“Draw your sword,” Azriel said, as he caught my hand and tugged me toward him. Valdis was already in his free hand.

“Why?”

“Because she might have more guards waiting in this place.”

I drew Amaya. A high-pitched humming began to flow across the outer reaches of my thoughts as she happily anticipated devouring more shag-pile demons. She really was a bloodthirsty little person.

Not person. Demon. Better.

I grinned as Azriel whisked us across the fields. He released my hand as we re-formed in the middle of a bright and airy hallway, his gaze watchful and blue fire running down Valdis’s steel sides.

The place was silent. The air held an oddly smoky, somehow electrical scent that reminded me of the smell in air just before a thunderstorm, but there was nothing to suggest there was anything or anyone else in this place but the two of us.

“There’s not.” Azriel sheathed Valdis. “Not even her resonance lingers.”

“Something does.” I held on to Amaya and swung around. “It smells like magic.”

“It is, though it does not feel recent or primed to attack.”

“Why would she set a trap in one home, and not the other?” I cautiously walked into the first room off the hallway, my footsteps echoing on the polished floorboards. The double bed had been stripped of linen, and the drawers from the bedside tables had been thrown on top of the mattress, suggesting someone had emptied them in haste. I walked across to the wardrobe and used Amaya’s tip to open the door. It too was empty.

The rest of the house provided a similar story – beds and wardrobes stripped, rooms empty of everything other than large pieces of furniture. Genevieve Sands had taken everything that might have provided us with some sort of clue as to who she really was or where she might now be found.

The sudden urge to scream rolled up my throat, and I had to bite down on my lip to stop it. I sheathed Amaya and walked through the kitchen-diner, heading for the windows that lined the rear of the house. The small garden was immaculately tended and very pretty, filled with roses and other flowering plants. There was no sign of a cuneiform stone, however. Not even a bare spot in the garden to mark where one had once stood. I sighed and rubbed my forehead wearily.

“Another dead end. Just what we needed right now.”

“That is not entirely true,” Azriel said.

I swung around. He was squatting in front of one of the kitchen cabinets, and held up what looked like a torn edge of paper. “It was caught at the back of this cabinet. Obviously, whoever emptied the drawers did so in haste, and did not notice it.”

I walked across. “Does it say anything useful?”

He smiled, though it failed to reach his eyes. “There is some sort of symbol resembling a stylized whirlpool and, underneath, a word that is incomplete because of the tear – Pénom.”

“That has to be Pénombre Manufacturing. It can’t be anything else.” Not in this instance, surely. And that meant we’d finally caught a break, even if only a small one.

“I wouldn’t think so.” Azriel pushed upright. “It also gives us our next target – that warehouse you and Jak discovered.”

I frowned. “But there’s nothing there.”

“There will be something there, but it is possible it can only be accessed via magical means.”

“Which doesn’t do us much fucking good, given neither of us is capable of magic.”

“No, but it is still worth checking. Magic lingers here, which suggests its use was recent. If she did not use it to set a trap, what, then, did she do?”

“I have no idea.” I flared my nostrils and drew in the electric scent again. There was an odd sense of energy and movement in its undertones and I frowned. “Maybe it was some sort of transport spell.”

“Which is why we should check that warehouse. Perhaps the only way to reach whatever secrets that place holds is via the use of such a spell.”

“Which still isn’t going to help us.”

“No, but if the scent lingers there as it does here, then perhaps we could uncover her den via more practical means.”

He held out a hand, and in a matter of seconds we were inside the empty warehouse. It was pitch black and the air still and cold. Moonlight filtered in through the grimy windows, but its cool light did little more than puddle around the area immediately underneath them. I stepped away from Azriel and drew in the scents. Magic lingered, as he’d predicted.

He drew Valdis. Flames burned down her sides, casting a bright light around us but throwing deeper shadows beyond it. “Where?”

I glanced at him. “You can’t sense it?”

“I can, but its feel is too faint to pinpoint.” He half shrugged. “In this case, the nose of a werewolf is infinitely more capable of tracking than a Mijai untrained in magic.”

“Half wolf,” I corrected, and slowly turned, trying to define from which direction the scent was the strongest.

“But full wolf where it counts.”

I raised my eyebrows and shot him a glance. “Oh yeah? And just where would that be, reaper?”

“Your senses,” he replied, voice bland but amusement dancing in his eyes. “What else would I have meant?”

“What else indeed.” Smiling, I returned my attention to the scent. It seemed to be the strongest from the area near the stairs that led up to the next floor.

I walked across, and cast around to see if I could pinpoint a particular area the scent seemed to be coming from. After a moment, I ducked under the metal steps and bent down. The concrete here was smooth and unmarked. There was absolutely nothing that would indicate anything lay underneath it.

“There wouldn’t be, given magic is used to enter and exit.” Azriel squatted beside me and rested Valdis on the concrete.

“Becoming Aedh would be pointless, because I can’t move through solid objects. What about you?”

He shook his head. “I need a point of reference to transfer anywhere here, be it a soul or an image. Up until now, I’ve basically been accessing your memories or knowledge, but you have not been into whatever lies below so I do not have the required information.”

I swore softly. “If we break in, she’s going to know we’re onto her.”

“She’s well aware of that already. She would not have retreated otherwise.”

“Yeah, but neither she nor the other sorcerer is aware that we know about this place.”

“True.” Sparks flew from Valdis’s tip, hitting the concrete with sharp little hisses. An echo of her master’s frustration, perhaps. “We have two choices – breach the concrete, or turn around and walk away.”

“We haven’t got time to walk away.” Or rather, Mirri didn’t. I drew Amaya, then added, “Go for it.”

At my words, flames flared from Valdis’s tip, then split and raced left and right, until they’d formed a two-foot-wide circle. Gray smoke began to billow, the concrete dust teasing my nose and catching in my throat, making me cough. Deeper and deeper the flames bored into the concrete, until suddenly they were through and the concrete ring dropped into a deeper darkness. The flames clung to its side, providing us shadowed glimpses of what lay below.

And what lay below were more fucking hellhounds.