Darkness Unmasked (DA 5) (22 page)

There was little evidence left of the stones, which no doubt had been the intention of the blast. Genevieve Sands obviously didn’t want to risk me investigating this locker. It’s just too bad for her that I already
had
—something she would have known if she’d accessed the site’s security system. For once it seemed that fate had played us a better hand than the bad guys.

I checked the rest of the storage units in the hope that someone else might have survived, but the effort was futile. All I found were bodies. There was nothing else I could do, so I turned around and headed home. Once there, I stripped off and showered, although the dust was so ingrained, I had a sneaking suspicion I’d be rubbing it out of my skin for the next week.

Once I’d finger combed my hair, I headed out to find Azriel. He was back in his usual spot.

“What is it about you and windows?” I grabbed some socks out of the nearby dresser and plopped down on the bed to pull them on.

He shrugged. “It is, quite literally, a window to a small section of your world. It is endlessly interesting watching what goes on.”

“Meaning your world is boring?”

“My world is one of rules and duty. It is not so much boring as that nothing ever changes.”

“I can’t imagine the life of a Mijai would be too boring.”

“The life of a hunter-killer is exciting for only the first couple of millennia.”

I stared at him for a moment, not quite sure I’d heard him right. “Millennia?”

He glanced at me, amusement briefly touching his eyes. “I am young in Mijai terms.”

“But ancient in mine.”

His eyebrows rose. “And this is a problem?”

“No, just surprising, that’s all.” I pulled the last sock on, then reached for my boots. “Did you find Genevieve at the Razans’ place?”

“No, she had already moved on.”

“To the place on the Gold Coast?”

“I checked both there and her house in Prahran. She was at neither.”

“Damn.” I thrust a hand through my hair and wondered if that meant she were dead, or if she were merely being cautious.

“That is a question that cannot be answered until she turns up either alive or dead.”

Very true. We had no idea how involved Genevieve Sands might be with either the magic or the key quest, and it was certainly more than possible that she
was
dead—but I was betting on the former rather than the latter. Something about the grim remains I’d seen just seemed a little too convenient. “So what do we do now?”

“Given we can do nothing on our own quest until tomorrow, perhaps we should concentrate on Hunter’s.”

“I guess.” I glanced at the clock. It was just after four, so there was still plenty of time to head on over to the entertainment agency and talk to either James Parred or Catherine Moore, the two contacts Stanford had given us for the agency. “I might go over to the agency on my bike. My head still feels achy after all the shifting to and from Aedh form.”

“That you have shifted so much and have not suffered the consequences suggests you are becoming more adept at the process.”

“Or it’s a result of whatever Malin did to me.”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

I snorted softly. “You’re determined not to give me any information about that, are you?”

“You know I cannot. Your dealings with your father are dangerous enough as they are.”

“Just because I understand your reasons doesn’t mean I’m not frustrated by them.” I gathered my phone and ID, then walked to the wardrobe to get my leather bike gear. “I’ll meet you at the front of Classique Entertainers.”

He nodded and disappeared. I headed down to the garage, gearing up in my leathers before I hopped on the Ducati and drove out.

Of course, going anywhere near the city approaching peak hour always added far too much time to the journey, so it was close to 4:45 by the time I got to Port Melbourne.

The agency was located in an area that was all concrete warehouses and office buildings. I found parking under one of the trees lining the center strip, then pulled off my gloves and helmet, shoved them into the under-seat storage, and headed across the road to Classique. It was situated in a building that was basically a glass-fronted concrete box, though the colorfully painted wooden strips lining the upper half of the building on either side of the windows at least gave it a bit of personality that was sadly lacking in its neighbors.

Azriel joined me as I walked toward the steps. “Would not a disguise be useful at this point, given that your uncle would not be pleased to discover you’re investigating these crimes?”

I stopped cold. “Shit, yes. Thanks for reminding me.” I did a quick look around, scanning the nearby building to see if there was anyone staring out the window. There didn’t appear to be, so I imaged myself with a long, thin face, with freckles over a somewhat large hooked nose, and spiky red hair. Once the shifting magic had done its work, I glanced at Azriel. “Well?”

“Definitely
not
an improvement,” he said, barely managing to restrain his smile.

I laughed. “What about you? There may be cameras inside, and we can’t risk Uncle Rhoan recognizing you any more than we can me.”

“Both human and electronic eyes will see a leather-clad, hairy-faced individual of impressive proportions.”

“Hopefully not too impressive—we don’t want to scare them.”

“Impressive proportions toned down, then.”

I grinned, loving his growing sense of humor more and more, and all but bounced up the steps. I pushed open the bright red metal doors, then stepped inside. The reception area was as modern as the outside of the building, with glass and bright colors being a central theme. The seated woman did something of a double take as we walked in. Her eyebrows rose slightly, but all she said was, “Can I help you?”

I dug my ID out of my pocket and showed it to her. “I need to talk to either James Parred or Catherine Moore about an entertainer they booked for Hallowed Ground this afternoon.”

She studied the badge for a moment, then frowned. “An investigator for the high council? What the hell is that?”

She had good eyes, because I’d deliberately kept the badge some distance from her.

“It means I work for the vampire high council.” I kept my voice in the lower tonal ranges. There was a security camera in the corner, and while it was focused on the door, I had no idea if it was sound capable or not. The last thing I needed was Uncle Rhoan raiding their system and hearing me.

“So, not Directorate?”

“No.” I hesitated. “I take it they have been here, though?”

“Yes. Yesterday.” She frowned. “So are you a cop or what?”

I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I lean more toward being a private investigator than something as official as a cop.”

“Meaning you don’t have the same sort of powers?”

“No.” And I could see where this was leading—me being shown the door. I glanced at Azriel.
Don’t suppose you can apply a little reaper charm, could you?
I know you’re not supposed to, but we need to get this case moving so we can concentrate on our own.

He raised an eyebrow, but he gave the woman a full-wattage smile and said, “We tend to be the intermediaries between the council and the Directorate. We’re used when the council does not wish a more official investigation.”

“But they
are
involved with whatever you are here to ask about, aren’t they?”

A woman immune to your wily ways,
I said, amused.
How amazing is that?

I suspect the reason is all the hair. She does not find it attractive, apparently.

Amusement bubbled through me, although I could certainly sympathize. Lots of hair wasn’t on my must-have list when it came to men, either.
Can you give her a little push into accepting us?

Only if it was key related, which this is not.

I mentally sighed, then said, “Look, we just have a couple of quick questions, but if you think either James Parred or Catherine Moore would prefer to speak directly to the guardians, that can be arranged.”

She bit the bottom of her lip, her expression uncertain, then made her decision and picked up the phone. “James, there are some investigators from the vampire council here who wish to speak to you about Ms. Summer.”

“Another bloody complaint, no doubt,” he replied, voice clearly audible even from where I stood. As was his annoyance. “Send them in.”

The woman hung up and motioned to the vibrant yellow door at the far end of the desk. “Through there, green door on your left.”

“Thanks.”

We followed her directions, and a balding, middle-aged man rose from his chair and gave a welcoming—if somewhat tense—smile. “James Parred, at your service.”

I shook his offered hand. “Annie Logan and Bear Brown,” I said, grabbing at the first names that came to mind.

He glanced at Azriel, amusement briefly touching his lips. “Bear?”

“It is more a nickname,” Azriel replied, giving me a “must-you?” sort of look.

“Well, it’s certainly appropriate, if you don’t mind me saying.” He waved a hand toward the seats, then sat back down himself. “What do you wish to know about Ms. Summer?”

“We went to Hallowed Ground to talk to her this afternoon, but she disappeared—”

“Yeah, damn annoying, that was,” he cut in. “She did me out of a booking fee and annoyed a good customer.”

“Have you been in contact with her? Do you know why she ran?”

He shook his head. “I tried calling her, but she’s not answering her phone.”

“And have you had any problems like this with her before?”

“Like this? No.”

“But you have had problems?”

He hesitated. “Earlier this week we were having problems contacting her, but she called yesterday and said her phone had been on the blink.” He grimaced. “Obviously, it still is.”

Either that, or the shape-shifting spirit behind these kills had decided to abandon the Summer identity. And that, in turn, meant we were dealing with a spirit with more intelligence than I’d thought them capable of. Although why I’d thought them incapable of logical thought, I couldn’t say. Maybe I’d just figured dark spirits were all about the need to kill and little else.

“What about Di Shard?”

He blinked. “What about her?”

“Well, have you had a similar problem with her recently?”

“She was out of contact for a couple of days, but it wasn’t a problem because we didn’t actually have her booked for anything.” He shrugged.

“Have you been in contact with her recently?”

“She called this morning to ask if there were any bookings.”

“And were there?”

“Nothing last moment. But I did have to remind her about her regular midnight booking at the Falcon Club, which was a little odd.”

Meaning if our dark spirit
had
taken over the identities of both Summer and Shard, the Falcon Club was most likely her next hunting ground. “Have you got a picture of the two women?”

“Sure.”

He rifled through the paperwork on his desk and handed me two photos. Both women were tall, with thin features and dark hair. Other than the fact one had pale skin, the other dark, they could have been mistaken for sisters.

I glanced up at Parred. “Until recently, how reliable were they?”

“Very.” He grimaced. “Reliability and quality performances are necessary assets in this business. Without it, you don’t survive that long.”

“I don’t suppose you could give me their addresses?”

He frowned. “No, I’m sorry, but information like that is private. I couldn’t hand it over without a warrant.”

“What about a cell phone number? It’s urgent that I speak with both women.”

His frown deepened. “I’m not sure—”

“It’s only a cell phone number,” I said, using my most persuasive voice. “It’s not like I can use it to track down their addresses or anything.”

He snorted. “The Directorate could.”

“The Directorate could have just pulled their driver’s license details and gotten the information from there.”

I could have, too—or rather, Stane could have. But I needed to take all the right steps to satisfy Hunter, and that had to include talking to the people who employed the two women.

He studied me for several seconds, then half shrugged. “I guess it won’t hurt.”

He leaned forward, pulled an old wireless keyboard out from under his desk, and began typing. I glanced at Azriel.
Don’t suppose you could take a sneaky look over his shoulder without him noticing?

I could.
His tone was amused.

I smiled.
Then would you?

Of course.

He appeared behind Parred.
Shard lives in flat one, ten Martin Street, St. Kilda, and
—he hesitated, waiting as Parred did some more typing—
Sands lives in flat eleven, one twenty Newman Street, Kensington.

He reappeared on the seat beside me just as Parred grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled two phone numbers onto it. “Here,” he said, sliding the paper across to me. “The first is for Shard, the second for Sands. Hope you have better luck contacting them than I have of late.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.”

We headed out. Once safely across the street and well out of earshot, I pulled out my phone and gave both women a call. Neither one answered. No surprise there, I guess. Especially when it was more than likely that both women were either incapacitated or dead.

I shoved my phone away and glanced at Azriel. “We’ll try Di Shard first. She’s slightly closer.”

“I will meet you there.”

He disappeared. I called to the shifting magic and made my face my own again, then pulled on the helmet and climbed onto the Ducati.

The trip across to St. Kilda was hell, thanks to the traffic, and by the time I got to Martin Street, I was more than a little pissed off and totally wishing I’d simply come here via Aedh form.

I cruised slowly past the apartment building, then parked around the corner, stored my helmet, and walked back. Ten Martin Street was a modern glass and concrete building that looked like a series of receding boxes, each layer sitting farther back, giving that “box” more of a courtyard than the one below it. The top layer apparently had enough room for a large outdoor umbrella to be set up.