Darkness Unmasked (DA 5) (8 page)

I half smiled. “To paraphrase Dorothy: Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“I’m bound to say that statement makes no sense.”

“Do any of my statements ever make sense to you?” I brushed the solo tear tracking its way down my cheek with a somewhat shaky hand. I might have felt stronger changing to and from Aedh form, but the aftereffects still sucked. Big-time.

He rose and held out his hand. “On rare occasions, yes, they do.”

I snorted softly and placed my fingers in his. He hauled me up gently, but the world did a brief three-sixty around me, and it was only his grip that kept me upright.

“Damn,” I muttered, swallowing bile. “I really am going to have to eat something soon.”

“I will refrain from saying I told you so.”

“That’s mighty big of you.” I turned and studied the room. We were in what had to be the master bedroom, given it was twice the size of the other four. It was pin-neat, almost sterile, with little sign that anyone lived here. But someone surely had to—why else would the stones transport us here?

“I cannot say whether someone lives here or not,” he said. “But there
is
magic in this place.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? I didn’t sense any when I was in Aedh form.”

“That is because the magic has some form of sensory boundary around it. It is very subtle.” He motioned toward the closet. “And comes from there.”

I studied the double doorway somewhat dubiously, then pushed my feet into motion. The closet turned out to be another room—one as big as my bedroom and filled with enough designer shoes and clothes to make even Aunt Riley’s heart sing. One side held feminine things, the other male, and in the middle stood several long, intricately carved Chinese sideboards. Now that we were close, the magic within them was easy enough to feel. It radiated from the drawers and cupboards in gentle waves, caressing my skin with an electricity that felt as dark and as dangerous as the stones in the greenhouse below.

I stopped and rubbed my arms. “Wonder what these things hold.”

“The accoutrements of a dark sorcerer, from the feel of it. I would suggest you do not attempt to view them.”

“There’s not a chance in hell of me doing that.” Even if part of me wanted to.

I swung away from the troubling source of magic, donned my gloves again, and went through the clothes, trying to find some clue as to the identity of their owners. Interestingly, all the male clothing—while exquisitely made—tended to be rather old-fashioned in design. If it weren’t for the modern labels, it would have been easy to believe they belonged to a time when breeches and waistcoats were all the rage. In fact, they were the sort of clothes Jane Austen’s men would have been perfectly at home in.

But again, there was nothing—not even a scrap of paper in pockets—to suggest that the clothes had ever been worn. It was as if we were dealing with a ghost.

But while a ghost could certainly haunt this place, one couldn’t actually own it.

Frowning, I spun around and checked the other bedrooms. The result was, as I’d expected, more big fat zeros.

We headed downstairs. The kitchen was all shiny black and fitted out with silver appliances, and while the result was pretty spectacular, all I could envisage was the multitude of fingerprints and dust that would show unless you were vigilant about cleaning. Which whoever owned this place obviously was, because there wasn’t a speck to be seen.

Thankful I hadn’t ditched the gloves at the warehouse, I carefully opened the drawers and cupboards. All of them contained the usual kitchen paraphernalia, and all of them were as neat as the rest of the house.

“Whoever lives here doesn’t seem to agree with your philosophy when it comes to storing things,” Azriel commented.

I glanced at him as I moved over to the pantry. He stood in the middle of the oversized living area, arms crossed and expression wary. Like he expected something to jump out at us at any minute—and things certainly
had
during past investigations of places where we weren’t supposed to be.

“And what philosophy would that be?” I said, opening the pantry door.

“To dump items wherever and worry about finding them again later.”

I flashed him a grin over my shoulder. “Do my untidy tendencies bother you?”

“No. I just find them illogical.”

“And now you sound like Spock. And I know that makes no sense because you have no idea who he is.” I paused, my gaze falling on the small black organizer attached to the other side of the door. “Bingo.”

He was beside me in an instant. “You’ve found something?”

“Bills.” I plucked one out and opened it up.

My stomach dropped.

The person who owned this mansion was
no
stranger.

It was Lauren Macintyre—the dark sorceress who was Lucian’s lover.

Chapter 4

“If you were looking for a connection between our dark sorcerer and Lucian,” Azriel commented, “I think you just found it.”

“But Lauren
isn’t
the sorcerer we’re looking for. Her magic felt different from the magic I sensed when that first key was stolen.”

“And yet the cuneiform on all the stones—both the ones you discovered today and the one you and Jak discovered underground—bear the same markings and energy quality.”

“Which suggests she’s involved, not that she’s the one we’re looking for.” I shoved the letter back, making sure it was in the exact same position. “Besides, it was a man I saw snatching the key, not a woman.”

“You could have been mistaken. We were under extreme pressure at the time.”

Extreme pressure was putting it mildly, given we’d been under attack from a horde of insane mutant shifters. “Yes, but I’m not mistaken. It
was
a man.”

“There
are
male clothes upstairs. If Lauren is not the sorcerer we seek, then perhaps she lives with him.”

That
was certainly possible. “We need not only to find out more about her, but to keep an eye on her.” I closed the pantry door. “Which means involving Stane again.”

“This place has no security cameras that he can hack into.”

“No, and that’s an interesting point. Why would she own a massive place like this and have no obvious form of security?”

Did Lauren feel so secure about this location—or maybe even her own skills—that she felt no need for protection? Or was it, perhaps, that all her security was centered on the property’s perimeter rather than within the actual house itself? It
would
make more sense to be aware of invaders long before they actually reached your door. And while I hadn’t seen a security measure when I’d gone down to the beach, that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. Or that it wouldn’t have reacted if I’d been in human form.

“Obviously, she has no desire for anyone to see what goes on in this house,” Azriel said.

“Maybe it’s not so much what goes on, but with whom.”

That someone
wasn’t
Lucian. The clothes upstairs hadn’t been his size, nor, as far as I knew, his style.

For a change, Azriel made no comment on Lucian and simply said, “Did not Stane have a miniature camera device that proved useful once before?”

“He did.” Said device had been made to resemble a bug, and we’d used it in an attempt to get information on a man we suspected of being not only a Razan, but perhaps involved with our sorcerer. Unfortunately, he, like many other of our leads, had turned out to be a dead end—in this case, literally. “I’m not sure if he managed to retrieve it, though.”

“You can ask.”

“True.” I glanced at my watch and sighed. “But I’d better get back to work right now. I have to do Ilianna’s shift, as she and Mirri are off celebrating their anniversary.”

He raised an eyebrow as he took my hand and tugged me toward him. “An anniversary is something that should be celebrated?”

“Always.” My gaze searched his. “I’m gathering reapers have no desire for such frivolity?”

“There is no need for it.”

“Why not? I mean, it’s not like you’re incapable of emotion, and you do live in family units, so the concept of being with someone long term isn’t an alien one.”

“No.” He hesitated. “Reapers do not view or feel emotions in the same manner as humans do. It is more about the harmony of energy than it is emotion.”

“So a life mate—”

“Caomh,” he corrected.

I made a face at him. “A
Caomh
is someone who is in perfect harmony with you energy-wise?”

“Yes. It is rare, which is why reapers tend to live in very large family units.”

“Meaning parents, grandparents, etcetera?”

“Yes. Ready?”

I nodded. “So, what about your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

The only answer I got was the surge of energy as he swept us from Lauren’s mansion to the shadowed and minute-by-comparison confines of my office above the café. I blinked, caught my balance, then stepped back and said, “Well?”

“I have both. I do not see them.”

Was that an edge to his voice? I frowned. “Why not?”

“I am a dark angel.”

My confusion deepened. “So?”

He half shrugged and turned away, moving with easy grace to the sofa on the other side of the room. But red-tinged blue fire flickered down Valdis’s sides—a sure sign Azriel was not as calm as he appeared. “Being a hunter is a punishment rather than a glory.”

I moved around the desk and sat down. “But with the first gate down and the other two threatened, it’s you guys who are holding everything together, not the supposedly more prestigious soul guides.”

“They do not see it that way.”

I stared at him for a moment, seeing the bitterness beneath the mask. “They don’t, or you don’t?”

A cool smile touched his lips. “Does it matter?”

“They’re your family, Azriel—”

“And they’re
not
important.” This time there was no disguising the scathing edge, but I had an odd feeling that it was aimed just as much at himself as at me. “Nothing and no one else matters until the task that lies before us is completed.”

I snorted softly and reached for the open bottle of Coke sitting on my desk. “And when this task is completed and you go back to hunting those who come through the dark portals, you still won’t see them, will you?”

“Do you not have work you must do?”

Though his voice had lost the edge, there was a hard glint in his eyes and Valdis still flickered with angry fire. Frustration ran through me, but I resisted the urge to stoke the fire a little more and took a drink instead. He’d told me a whole lot more in those brief few seconds than he ever had about his reaper life, and while it was nowhere near enough to quench my desire to understand him more, I knew it was better to back away for the moment. Push too hard, and he’d make like a clamshell and not say anything else at all.

So I simply got back to work. It took me a couple of hours to get all the accounts done. Once I’d changed into clothes that weren’t literally falling off me, I headed downstairs to help out with the waitressing. Tao was in the kitchen, but we were so damn busy that we barely had time to even smile at each other.

As it neared midnight—and the end of my shift—I counted the takings and secured the cash upstairs, then grabbed four glasses of ice and Coke and shouldered through the kitchen’s double doors. The only person in the kitchen was our pot washer, Frank. Neither Tao nor Rachel, our other chef, was in sight, although the fridge door was open and the toe end of a brown work boot was visible. It had to be Rachel’s—it was too small to be Tao’s.

“Where’s Tao?” I asked, handing Frank his drink.

The older man shrugged and wiped the sweat from his face with a brawny arm before accepting the glass with a smile of thanks. He was slightly simple, but he did a damn fine job and he seemed to enjoy it. At least he was reliable, unlike some of the kids we employed.

I swung around and headed for the fridge. “Hey, Rachel,” I said, popping my head around the corner of the door. “There’s a drink on the counter here for you. Where’s Tao?”

“Outside I think, and thanks.”

She didn’t look up from her stocktaking, and I spun and headed out. The rear door was open, and the breeze was icy compared to the heat in the kitchen. I paused in the doorway, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but didn’t immediately spot anyone.

I frowned. “Tao?”

There was a pause, then, “Here.”

My gaze swung to the left, and even then it took me a minute to find him. He was hunkered down in the shadows of the Dumpster, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees.

“You okay?” I walked over and offered him one of the glasses. He smelled of sweat, grease, and ash. The latter had concern slithering through me.

“Thanks.” He reached up and took it, but didn’t lift his eyes. Didn’t look at me.

“Tao, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His voice was monotone. Clipped. “I’m fine.”

“Then look at me.” I squatted down in front of him and gently touched his chin. I might as well have touched a furnace, and I couldn’t help the reflex to jerk my fingers back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Nice, isn’t it?”

“And the reason you’re out here, I’m gathering.” The fire elemental he’d consumed—the one he was locked in a constant battle with over control of his own body—didn’t do too well in darkness and cold. Normally he’d just retreat to the freezer when the thing inside him started to threaten again, but with Rachel in there doing a stock take, the night air was the next best bet. I touched his chin again, ignoring the sting of heat as I forced him to look at me. His eyes—normally a rich, warm brown—were alien and fire filled. “Never turn away from me, Tao. You are not a monster, not now, not ever. Not to me, not to Ilianna, not to anyone that will ever matter.”

He jerked out of my touch and snorted, the sound sharp with disbelief. “You say that now, but when the monster gains control, it’ll be another damn story—”

“But it won’t,” I said sharply. “Because you’re stronger than it is. So stop sitting there feeling so damn sorry for yourself and tell me about your date last night.”