by Keri Arthur
“Miss Joe Normal, in other words,” I said. “She’s damn good at setting up and maintaining alternate identities, I tell you.”
“I gather Stane is checking her other IDs for you, but you might want to send them along to me, as well,” he commented. “Sometimes the Directorate has more access to information than a black market racketeer.”
His voice was dry, and I grinned. “Yeah, but I don’t have to listen to him nagging about keeping safe.”
“Getting nagged is a whole lot better than getting dead. Just remember that.”
I did remember. I couldn’t forget, actually, given I had already died once. And I had no intention of repeating the process anytime soon.
“I’ll send a list of our sorceress’s other names now, and I promise to call if I intend to do anything daft.” I hesitated, thinking about my upcoming dinner with Mike, then added, “I don’t suppose the Directorate has a tracker available that’s virtually undetectable—one that I could maybe borrow?”
“There might be,” he said, voice noncommittal. “Why?”
“Because I have someone I want to track, and they may or may not be aware of my suspicions of them.”
“Is this someone involved with the sorceress and the key hunt?”
“We’re not sure, but we did find a minor connection, and at this stage, I think it’s better to be cautious than not.” Even if I still didn’t really want to believe Mike could be so convincingly two-faced.
“Then I’ll supply the tracker, if you supply the name. I’ll run a check on him or her from here.”
I hesitated, but it wasn’t like I had any other choice. “His name is Michael Judd.”
Surprise rippled across Rhoan’s expression. “Your investment adviser?”
“And Mom’s before me. As I said, the connection might be coincidental, but we nevertheless need to be sure.”
“Yes, you do.” He paused, glancing away from the vid-phone. “Okay, we have several in stock. If you want to ask Azriel to meet me in the foyer in five minutes, I’ll hand both the bug and the tracker to him.”
“Excellent. Thanks, Uncle Rhoan. I owe you big-time.”
“Pay me by keeping yourself alive,” he said. “And by calling me the minute—”
“I will,” I cut in. “I promise, as I said.”
“Good.” With that, he hung up.
I shoved my phone back into my purse, then glanced at Azriel. He smiled and said, “Don’t do anything untoward while I’m gone.”
Once he’d disappeared, I walked over to my computer and Googled the Perth address, then flicked it over from maps to street view. The area, as Rhoan had noted, was definitely upmarket.
Azriel reappeared a few minutes later and handed me a small box. Inside were what appeared to be two skin-colored dots hardly bigger than pinheads, and a small GPS device. “Your uncle said to place one of the dots on Mike’s wrist. It is designed to take on the wearer’s skin color and once in place will not come off. Nor will he feel its presence.”
“And did he say how I’m supposed to get it onto his wrist?”
“He suggested when you were shaking his hand. It has two sides—the side currently visible in the box clings to your finger; then it’s simply a matter of pressing that finger against his wrist when clasping his hand.”
Which sounded a whole lot easier than it probably would be. I placed the kit on the table, then waved a hand at the satellite image on the computer screen. “Can you get us there using this as a base?”
Azriel looked over my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Excellent.” I turned, dropped a quick kiss on his lips, and said, “Onward, James.”
He rolled his eyes but nevertheless wrapped his arms around me and transported us out of there. Lauren’s Lancelin house basically looked like someone had taken a bunch of differently sized white boxes and stacked on them on top of one another. It was only two stories high, but there were lots of different angles and sections thanks to the stacking effect. The windows—at least at the front of the house—were long and thin, and the entrance box was painted dark purple. There was a Mercedes and a BMW parked in front, suggesting the house was occupied.
“It is,” Azriel confirmed. “There are five adults and two children within.”
I frowned. “I wouldn’t think she’d set any traps that her paying guests could accidentally trigger.”
“As you noted, our sorceress has a habit of doing the unexpected.”
“Meaning we need to get those people out of there before we go in and explore.” I squinted up at him. “Could you apply a bit of mental pressure, and get them to leave?”
He studied the house for a moment; then his gaze met mine again. “Done. They are all currently heading for the beach. Security screens will remain down.”
“Excellent.” I headed down the long driveway and entered the house. It was open plan in design, all white walls, rich wood, and a beautiful glass staircase. The rear of the house was all windows, providing a sweeping view of the beach and the boats dotting the bay beyond it. “Stunning” didn’t even begin to describe the place and the view.
But we weren’t here for either of those things. I walked around the house, downstairs and up, looking for anything that seemed out of place or strange. There was nothing—not even the slightest whiff of magic. Not until we got into the triple garage, anyway.
I stood in the middle of the vast space, trying to pin down the vague sensation, and, after a moment, spun on my heel and headed for the far corner. Though the outside wall of the place looked solid, electricity nipped at my skin, the sensation not unlike the bite of ants. Something was here.
I glanced at Azriel. “Can you feel anything?”
He shook his head. “But Valdis says there is some kind of doorway present.”
Is, Amaya said. Old, but not dark like others.
“Meaning it hasn’t been created by our dark sorceress?”
“Or,” Azriel said, “it was created early in her career, before she took the darker path.”
“But this house isn’t that old.”
“No, but perhaps there was a previous dwelling here, and what you feel is little more than a remnant of the magic that protects whatever might still be left of it.”
“Maybe.” I hadn’t thought to ask Uncle Rhoan about the history of the place, and I should have, given Lauren’s penchant for passing on properties to one of her other aliases. I squatted and swept a hand across the pristine concrete. Energy skittered across my fingertips, the feel slightly sharper than before, but definitely not dirty or dark. I glanced up at Azriel. “She’s shown a liking for hiding things underground—do you think it’s possible that she’s got another bolt-hole here?”
“There is only one way to find out.”
He drew Valdis. I rose and stepped out of the way. “Just do a small hole. One that’s just big enough to look through. We don’t want the kids staying here falling through anything.”
He nodded. Flames flared from Valdis’s tip, then split and raced left and right, until they’d formed a circle barely bigger than a small fist. Gray smoke began to billow and the concrete dust teased my nose, making me sneeze. 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 with shadowed glimpses of what lay below.
I knelt down and peered into the small hole, but Valdis’s flames weren’t bright enough to lift the darkness all that much. But the air smelled foul and there didn’t appear to be any sort of magical surprise waiting for us, as there had been last time.
I looked at Azriel. “Can you sense anything?”
He shook his head. “I do not believe hell creatures wait below.”
“Right, then, I’m going in.” I raised an eyebrow, waiting for a useless automatic rebuttal, but he surprised me.
“Be careful,” he said. “And if you do not wish your clothes destroyed, it might be wise to strip first.
”
“Ha! I knew there was a reason you didn’t object to me going down there. You just want to see me naked.”
“Of course. Even if I prefer the song of your soul and your energy, I have been wearing this form long enough now that I’ve gained a human male’s appreciation of the female form.” Amusement briefly creased the corners of his eyes, but it faded as he added, tone a touch more serious, “And I would stop you from going down there if I thought there was any danger, or if I actually had some location markers that would allow me to go down there instead.”
I rose, stripped, and handed him my clothes. Then, drawing Amaya, I ignored his appreciative glance and the heat it stirred and called to the Aedh. The energy came thick and fast, and in a very short space of time, I was little more than particles. I slipped through the hole and down into the darkness. Magic tingled through my being, but its touch was old and distant and didn’t particularly feel threatening. If there was a spell here, then it was an old one—maybe one that had lost its strength over time.
The darkness was so impregnable I couldn’t see anything beyond the puddle of Valdis’s flames. I moved around, trying to get some sense of the place. It was only a small chamber by Lauren’s standards, and there didn’t appear to be any other chambers leading off it.
I moved back to the beacon that was Valdis and, taking a mental breath and warning Amaya to be ready, called to the Aedh once more. A heartbeat later, I was flesh again. Dizziness swept me, but the traditional blinding headache that used to always come with re-forming was little more than a muted, ignorable ache. I was definitely getting better at this whole energy-to-flesh thing.
Nothing, Amaya grumbled. Shame that.
Only to your bloodthirsty little self, I said, amused.
Not bloodthirsty, she muttered. Soul thirsty. Difference.
I guess there was, in that her thirst had a more permanent ending for her victims. I lifted her blade and her flames flared brighter down her sides, peeling away the heavy cloak of darkness. The chamber was circular and little more than ten feet wide. The magic that I’d sensed earlier clung to the outer walls of the small cavern, but it was no stronger down here than it had been up in the garage. Like previous bolt-holes we’d uncovered, this one had various shelves and storage areas hewn into the earth walls. The bottles and various other witchy-type accoutrements that lined them were heavy with dust and old webs.
Awareness tingled through me as Azriel appeared. He glanced around, then handed me my clothes and said, “This does not appear to have been used for a very long time.”
“No.” I quickly dressed, then walked across to the nearest shelf and plucked one of the jars from its dusty perch. The glass was so old it was almost opaque, but there was what looked to be hair inside. I undid the lid and tipped the contents out onto the dirt. “But even so, I have no intention of leaving anything here that she might come back and use.”
“Might she not sense the destruction of the items?”
“If she was going to sense anything, it would probably be our entry into this place.” I shrugged. “I can’t imagine she’d sense these bits and pieces being destroyed, because in and of themselves they hold no magic.”
“Good.”
He moved to the next shelf and began emptying the contents of all the bottles and jars onto the floor, and in a relatively quick time we had a good pile. I shoved Amaya into the middle of them. Her flames crawled over everything and quickly turned them to ash. I swept my foot through the small pile, scattering the remnants, and wished I had some holy water. Spreading it around would have made this place a little bit more inhospitable if she ever did come back to it.
“What next?” Azriel asked.
I glanced at the time and swore softly. “Next we go back to the office. I need to get ready for my meeting with Mike.”
“I’m glad you stopped calling it a date,” he said, as he gathered me close. “That word has the power to annoy me greatly.”
I tsked. “Too long in human form for sure.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But it does have its benefits. Some of which I intend to explore when and if I get the chance.”
“It would seem certain parts of your body are more eager for exploration than others.”
“That,” he said severely, but with humor dancing in his eyes, “is a function of this body that I have no control over. And, I might add, it is extremely uncomfortable.”
I laughed and kissed him. “I do love you, you know.”
“I know. I have always known how you felt, even when you yourself were unsure. You cannot lie to your Caomh.”
“You can’t?” I said, in mock horror. “Damn, there go my plans of hiding future spending sprees in the closet and telling you later I’ve had them for ages.”
He gave me a blank sort of look. “I do not even pretend to understand that particular comment.”
“Oh, you will, trust me.”
His expression remained unsure. I grinned, kissed him again, and said, “Home, James.”
A second later we were standing in the middle of the office once again. I pulled away from his embrace somewhat regretfully and started getting ready to meet Mike.
* * *
Winter’s was a long, skinny restaurant squeezed in between two larger establishments. The walls were rough brick, the ceilings high and part glass, and there were lots of old iron tools and sculptures adorning the walls. Though it had a warm, friendly vibe, I felt anything but warm as the waitress led me through the main part of the restaurant and into a more private dining area. This area, like the main section, was heavy on the brick and metal decorations, but at the rear of the room was a bank of sliding glass doors that—while currently closed—opened out to a small but pretty courtyard. Thankfully, Mike wasn’t the only one in the room—there was another couple sitting in the corner near the doors, though I doubted they’d be of much help if things started to go downhill. They didn’t seem to be aware of anything but each other.
“Risa,” Mike said, rising from the table. “Right on time, as usual. And looking rather nice, might I add.”
He was wearing black, close-fitting pants that rather looked like breeches, a beautiful emerald green vest, a white linen shirt, and a black cravat. A double-breasted waistcoat hung from the back of his chair.
He looked like he’d just stepped out of the Victorian era—as had, I thought with a chill, the men’s clothing I’d seen hanging in Lauren’s wardrobe. It might have been nothing more than coincidence. I mean, Lauren knew we’d been to her place and had seen those clothes, so if Mike was involved with her—or, worst-case scenario, actually was her—then surely he wouldn’t risk wearing similar clothes.
“Thanks. And I’m on time because I’m starved.” I clasped his offered hand, suddenly thankful that our relationship was strictly professional despite his apparent relationship with my mom. I slid my finger to his wrist and pressed the tracker onto his skin. His grip, I noted with some distaste, was unusually warm and slightly moist, but he didn’t seem to notice the tracker’s transfer and that was good. I just had to hope now that it had transferred. I couldn’t feel it on my finger, but that wasn’t proof, as I hadn’t felt it when it was.
He released my hand, then moved around the table, gallantly pulling out my chair and seating me. His closeness had no particular vibes going off, and yet it still unnerved me. I had no idea why.
“I hope the newlyweds in the corner don’t bother you,” he said, sitting back down opposite. “I did ask Beatrice to book a private room so we could discuss your friend’s problem without being overheard, but it appears she ignored me.”
“That’s okay.” I smiled at the waitress as she handed me the menu. “I don’t think the newlyweds are worried about anything but each other right now.”
“True.” He studied the wine list for a moment, then said, “What would you like to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.” Even if my wolf constitution did allow me to drink a little alcohol withou
t the risk of harming my child, my damn stomach was churning so badly I probably would have brought it right back up.
“Make that two, thank you.” He closed the wine list, handed it to the waitress, then once again turned his full attention to me. There was something unnerving in the way he watched me—there was an intensity, a stillness, that reminded me of a predator about to pounce. “How was your day, my dear?”
Was there just a little too much interest behind that casual question?
I studied him for a minute, seeing lines in his face and shadows under his eyes that I couldn’t remember seeing before. Maggie’s comment about the drain the Ania attack would have caused ran through the back of my mind and I couldn’t help connecting two and two. But was I seeing things—sensing things—simply because I wanted to see them? Because there was some minor part of me that wanted them to be there?
If Kiandra’s warning was correct—and I had no doubt that it was—then in all honesty I would much rather the person who wasn’t what they seemed to be, be Mike than anyone else in my life.
Because everyone else in my life was someone I loved.
“Fine,” I said eventually, “but the café is so busy we’re thinking about employing several more waitstaff. We’re run off our feet during peak hours.”
“You have to be careful if you do,” he said. “Prime costs are sitting at about sixty-three percent of the total volume of sales. You don’t want to run it too much higher, especially if you ever want to sell it in the future.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What gave you the idea that I might want to sell it?”
“It happens. Partnerships break up, or it just gets too much.” He shrugged. “What happens if you—or indeed, Ilianna—get pregnant? What will you do with the café in that sort of event?”
“The days of a woman giving up her job or her business when she becomes pregnant are long gone.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that.” He half shrugged. “It was just a theoretical question.”