He frowned. “I cannot feel anything beyond your discomfort.”
“That doesn’t make it any less here.” I stood upright, but the minute I did, the sensation went away. All I could feel was the thick dust; all I could hear was the crackle of fire, the groan of broken walls, and the wail of sirens drawing close. I frowned, bent over again, and the sensation reappeared. “This way.”
I followed the tenuous trail out of the bedroom, stepping over chunks of marble and concrete, trying not to breathe in too much of the dust and smoke. My throat burned, and I needed water badly, but there was no way I’d leave this place until I found whatever that slight tease of magic was.
The trail led into the small laundry, of all places. I paused, looking around, trying to pinpoint the sliver of darkness. After a moment, I moved to the cupboard near the washer/dryer. When I opened the door, a laundry hamper slid out, half-filled with shirts, undies, and socks. Somewhat reluctantly, wishing I had some gloves so I didn’t have to touch used undies with bare hands, I fished around. My fingertips soon brushed something solid near the bottom. I caught it and pulled it out.
“As dark magic goes, that pair of trousers looks particularly unthreatening,” Azriel commented.
“Don’t they just.” They also felt rather heavy. I explored each of the pockets and, from the last one, pulled out a phone. Its surface crawled with the dark sensation of magic. I handed it to Azriel, then tossed the pants back into the hamper. “Can you feel it?”
He nodded and turned the vid-phone over, studying it. “I do not believe it is spelled, as such. It simply feels as if magic has leached into its surface.”
“
Can
magic leach into surfaces?” I barely managed to get the words out when I started coughing again. The smoke was getting thicker, the heat stronger, and the emergency response vehicles had stopped on the street outside. We had to get out of here.
He shrugged. “I am not familiar enough with magic to answer that question, but the Brindle witches might be able to.”
They probably could, but I’d already jeopardized their safety enough. I wasn’t about to take this phone to them and risk either setting off a spell we couldn’t detect or bringing the wrath of the sorceress down on them.
“Then what do you wish to do?” Azriel said. “As you noted, we must get out of here.”
“Let’s go to the Directorate,” I said. “Maybe Uncle Rhoan—or at least someone in the Directorate—will be able to break whatever security is on the phone and trace who it belongs to.”
He raised his eyebrows even as he reached for me. “And if there
is
a spell?”
“They have more than enough witches and plenty of spell-nullifying rooms to cope with it.” I shoved my hand into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around my phone again.
“Good plan,” he said, and zipped us out of there.
“I do have them occasionally,” I said, as we reappeared in front of the inconspicuous green-glass building that housed the Directorate.
“Apparently so.” His voice was dry.
I ignored the comment and, after tugging my clothes into some semblance of order, fished my phone out of my pocket and walked toward the Directorate’s main entrance.
“Call Rhoan,” I said, and a heartbeat later, his image appeared on the vid-screen.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to me,” he said, a smile touching his lips but little in the way of amusement in his eyes.
“I need to talk to you ASAP.”
“Don’t bother, because I have no intention—”
“It’s not about that,” I cut in, not wanting him to say too much in case it wasn’t Markel astrally following us about. The Cazadors generally weren’t able to track our movements through the gray fields, but they would have heard me mentioning going to the Directorate and might already be here. Traveling on the astral field was as simple and as easy as traveling via reaper. “Well, not entirely. I need your help.”
“Where are you?”
“Just about to enter the Directorate foyer.”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
The screen went dead. I shoved my phone away and stepped through the Directorate’s main entrance. Pale blue light swept my length as I did so, the only visible indication of the vast array of scanners installed in this place. They all had one purpose—to protect those within. Not even a gnat could get into the Directorate without security being aware of it, let alone anyone armed with some form of weapon—be it metal, plastic, or laser. Of course, there wasn’t a sensor in the world capable of detecting the presence of our swords.
Naturally,
Amaya commented, her mental tones haughty.
Superior we are.
A point with which I couldn’t disagree. Even so, I couldn’t help saying,
At least the weapons of this world don’t scream at inopportune moments.
Problems theirs,
she said.
No point in
not
screaming. It scares more than steel.
I guessed
that
was another point I couldn’t argue with. I walked over to the comfy chairs situated to one side of the foyer and sat, legs crossed, to wait for Uncle Rhoan.
Security frowned at us. “Can I help you, miss?”
“It’s all right, Mac,” Rhoan said, as he came around the corner. In the foyer’s light, his red hair gleamed like fire. “These two are here at my request.”
I rose and walked toward him. His sharp gray gaze briefly swept me. “You really need to get some rest in the next twenty-four hours. You look like shit.”
“Well, thanks.” I kissed his cheeks. “It’s good to see you, too.”
He half smiled, but it didn’t lift the seriousness in his eyes. “I mean it. You can’t keep running on empty, Ris. It won’t do anyone any good.” His gaze moved beyond me, and he made a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Nice to see you, reaper.”
See? I am not the only one who notices these things,
Azriel said, even as he said out loud, “And you.”
Rhoan’s gaze returned to mine. “What’s the problem?”
“I prefer it if we were somewhere secure. Too many possible listeners hanging about out in the open.”
“The Directorate’s foyer has more antilistening devices than most secure offices could even dream of.” But his gaze flickered briefly beyond me, and I knew then he’d caught my meaning. “But if it would make you feel better, come along.”
He swung around and led us to the lifts. No one spoke as we headed down into the true heart of the
Directorate. The ten levels aboveground might be the public face of the Directorate, but it was here, in the five stories underground, where the guardians were housed and trained, and where the liaisons—the people who filed the guardians’ reports, who catered to their everyday needs, and who gave them their assignments—operated.
The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. The thick smell of vampire swept in, but underneath it ran the sweeter scent of shifters. Once upon a time, this section of the Directorate had operated mainly at night, simply because most guardians had been vampires. But over the last fifteen years or so, more shifters and psychics had been employed to cover daytime operations.
Rhoan led us through a maze of halls, then finally stopped and slapped his palm against a scanner. The door slid open. He stepped to one side and waved me in. The room was small and sparsely furnished, with little more than a coffee machine and a table that had half a dozen chairs scattered around it. It was also a room protected by magic. It caressed my skin, a touch that was warm and yet filled with power. It wasn’t as strong or as ancient as the force that protected the Brindle, but it wasn’t something anyone sane would want to mess around with.
“Okay,” Rhoan said, heading for the coffee machine. “What’s the problem?”
“Our sorceress just blew up a rather expensive Sydney apartment—”
“Which undoubtedly explains the torn state of your clothing and the smell of smoke,” he cut in. “I gather the bomb was meant for whoever owns the apartment, rather than you?”
“We think so,” I said. “It didn’t detonate until we deactivated the security system.”
Rhoan punched several buttons on the coffee machine, then said, “How did you survive the blast?”
“We were in energy form, so it simply blew us out rather than up. We were lucky.”
“Apparently so.” He didn’t make the obvious comment—that one day we wouldn’t be—though I could almost see the thought cross his mind. “Why did she destroy the apartment? Who owned it?”
I pulled a chair closer to the table, then sat down and told him about Harrison Jantz. “We’re not sure why Jantz has disappeared, but if our sorceress set the bomb to take him out rather than destroy any evidence she might have left there, then we need to find Jantz ourselves, and fast.”
“Which is why you’re here?” He carried two mugs of coffee over and handed me one.
“Yes, but also because of this.” I glanced at Azriel. He placed the phone we’d discovered at the apartment on the table. “The same sort of magic Lauren uses clings to its surface, so we doubt it’s Jantz’s. We were wondering if the witches here could defuse whatever spell might be on this thing, then trace the owner.”
“It’s more than likely a burn phone. I mean, surely your sorceress wouldn’t be daft enough to leave something like this behind at the scene of her crime.”
“It was in a pair of men’s pants. Maybe she forgot it was in them when they were tossed into the laundry basket.”
He frowned. “Why would your sorceress be leaving men’s pants in Jantz’s apartment?”
“Because she’s a multishifter who can take on both male and female forms.” I hesitated. “She has, in the past, taken my form, so be really careful if you get an unexpected call from me requesting a meeting somewhere private.”
“All the calls I get from you are unexpected.” His voice was dry. “But I do see your point. No clandestine meetings with you from now on, then.”
“I’m serious, Uncle Rhoan. I have no idea how much this bitch knows about me, but I don’t want to risk your life any more than I already have.”
“Ris,” he said gently, “I’m a guardian. Danger is an inherent part of my job.”
“I know, and that’s not what I meant.”
He smiled. “I appreciate the concern, but I will not—”
“I know, but you don’t understand. Lauren is the
least
of your problems when it comes to danger. Hunter is not only head of the organization you work for, but undoubtedly knows which buttons she needs to push to get to you. She’s already killed Jak, and she’s threatened me with not only your safety, but
everyone
else I care about. She
will
carry through with those threats. And nothing, not this place, not being a guardian, will protect you from her. She’s not human. She’s—”
“No one you should be going up against,” a deep voice said.
I jumped, splashing coffee across my hand as I swung around. The man who’d entered was bald, average sized, with weatherworn features and sharp green eyes. He neither looked nor felt dangerous, and yet he was possibly the most dangerous person inside the Directorate aside from Hunter herself.
This was Jack Parnell, senior vice president of the Directorate, and the man in charge of the entire guardian division.
He also happened to be Madeline Hunter’s half brother.
“It’s not like I want to go up against her.” I put my coffee down and rubbed my hand on the leg of my jeans to dry it. “In fact, it’s the one thing I’m trying to avoid. But she’s—”
“I know what she is,” Jack cut in. He walked across to the coffee machine and pressed a button. “I’m also aware of what she might desire.”
“I think ‘might desire’ is putting it a little too mildly, don’t you?”
He flashed me a smile, but it held little in the way of warmth.
“Perhaps. But I have been aware of my sister’s ambitions for quite a while and, as much as I am able, have been attempting to keep some control over them.”
“Control?” I retorted. “How is allowing her to kill Jak keeping some control over the situation?”
“Ris,” Rhoan murmured. “Calm down—”
Something within me snapped. “Damn it,
no
! I won’t. I
can’t
. I’ve been pulled from pillar to post by the wants and desires of just about every other damn person on this planet—and some beyond it—and I’m getting a little tired of it. This isn’t about me calming down. This is about me trying to save not only your butt, but the butts of everyone else on this planet if either of the psycho bitches who have designs on the last key actually gets her mitts on it.”
I stopped and took a deep breath. Uncle Rhoan’s expression swung between surprise and amusement. I couldn’t say what Jack was feeling, because—like most vampires—he could control his emotions to the extreme when he wanted to.
And, right now, he apparently wanted to.
I met his bright gaze. “I know she’s your sister, but surely to god even you can see that her gaining control of both the high vampire council
and
the key would
not
be a very good thing.”
“I didn’t mention the keys when I talked to him about Jak,” Rhoan murmured.
“No, he didn’t.” Jack gave Rhoan a somewhat severe look. “But he didn’t need to. I have, as I said, been aware of the situation for some time. And I’m sorry about Jak. That was . . . unfortunate.”
He’d been aware . . . and yet hadn’t done a damn
thing. And because of that, Jak had died. I slapped a hand on the table and thrust to my feet. “And will Rhoan’s death be unfortunate?” I exploded again, waving a hand at him. “Will Aunt Riley’s? Where are you going to draw the line?”
“Ris, enough,” Rhoan warned softly. “Let the man explain.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then met Rhoan’s gaze and closed it again, suddenly aware of the fury building near the coffee machine. Jack might be able to control his emotions, but right now they were extremely close to erupting.
I sat down, wrapped my fingers around my coffee cup, and waited. After a moment, Jack walked across to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. Every move was measured, considered. He sipped his coffee, saying nothing, and while that sense of fury didn’t ebb, the sensation of imminent danger eventually did.