Darkness Unmasked (DA 5) (12 page)

“He’s a horse-shifter,” she said dryly. “A
male
horse-shifter. They don’t think straight when it comes to mares.”

“I’m still siding with Mirri on this one.”

“Traitor.” The fierceness of her tone was more than a little diluted by the glint of amusement in her eyes. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

I hesitated, then said, “Tao’s walked out of the café and can’t be found. I don’t supposed you’ve had any particular vibes were he’s concerned?”

Ilianna wasn’t only a powerful witch, but also a very strong clairvoyant—and a far more reliable one than I’d ever been.

“No, I haven’t.” She frowned, expression suddenly concerned. “Is it the fire elemental?”

“I think it could be. I know he was having trouble controlling it earlier.”

“I’ll do a locating spell and see if I can find him.”

“Great.” I hesitated. “Though if the elemental has taken over, will a locating spell even work?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip for a moment. “A locator spell works on the energy of the person, so with Tao’s body chemistry constantly changing—flowing from flesh to elemental depending on which being has more control—it’s going to be difficult to pin him down. But I can try.”

“Let me know the minute you find anything. In the meantime, I’ll rope in Stane and Jak.”

“Why the hell would you involve
Jak
?” Her voice held a note of disbelief. “It’s not like Tao needs someone like him—someone only after a good story—on his case.”

“Jak has his nose to the ground and can hunt stories in places neither of us would get near,” I said. To say Ilianna had a hate-on for Jak was like saying night followed day—blindingly obvious.

“You be careful with him, Risa. The last thing you need in your life is another heartbreak.”

“Trust me, Jak is getting nowhere near my heart.” I gave her a lopsided grin. “Or my body.”

She harrumphed. “I’ll be in contact.”

“Thanks.”

I hung up, then scrolled through the contacts list until I found Jak—though truth be told I knew the number by heart—and rang him.

All I got was a recording telling me to leave a message. I did so, asking him to let me know if he heard about anything unusual dealing with fire, then tossed the phone back onto the bed and decided to grab a shower while I waited for Azriel to return.

He’d done so by the time I’d dressed, and one look at his expression told me everything I needed to know. I swore and thrust a hand through my damp hair. “Now what are we going to do?”

“There is nothing we can do—not until he regains his flesh form.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

He studied me for a moment, expression giving little away. “If he doesn’t, you have a choice to make.”

I stared at him, my stomach suddenly twisting itself into knots. “No.”

“There may be no choice,” he said, voice even but somehow relentless. “If the elemental has won the war, then Tao is already lost to you.”

“No!” I clenched my fists against the anger—the useless, sick anger that was fueled part by fear and part by the knowledge that he was right—and added, “I will not give up on him.”

While there was life, there was always hope.

Besides, I’d promised Tao I would do all that I could to help him win. Giving up at the first major hurdle was not doing
that
.

“Risa—”

I made a chopping motion with my hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Azriel. I don’t care what you say. I don’t care what fate plans. I don’t care about being sensible. I will not give up on my friend. Okay?”

He studied me for several seconds, then crossed his arms and turned back to the window. Every inch of his muscular back seemed to radiate displeasure.

“Okay.”

“Glad we agree,” I muttered. I grabbed my phone, then stalked out to the kitchen.

I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but I wasn’t about to fall into the trap of not eating. Not when I actually felt reasonably healthy for the first time in ages.

I made myself a coffee, then sat down and consumed a large bowl of Coco Pops complete with lashings of whole milk. Not the healthiest of meals, but a slight step up from the chocolate cake that had initially tempted me.

As I rinsed the bowl out, my phone rang, and the funeral march tone told me it was Hunter. I closed my eyes and, for all of three seconds, resisted the urge to answer it. But Markel’s warning loomed large in the back of my mind. I swore softly, then did the sensible thing.

“There’s been another murder,” she said before I could even open my mouth to say hello.

Of course there was. I mean, why
wouldn’t
fate just chuck more fuel into the bonfire of insanity that was my life at the moment? “Same MO?”

“Apparently. The report came in via Directorate channels, and it is not someone I know.”

Thank god for
that
. The last thing we needed was for someone to be targeting Hunter’s friends or lovers. She was close enough to the edge as it was. “I’m guessing you want me to check it out?”

“Yes. The address has been sent, so get there.” Something flashed in her eyes. Something that was almost unholy. “Find this thing, Risa.”

She hung up. The phone beeped as her message came in. I glanced at it, noting that this time, the murder had occurred in the more middle-class suburb of Caulfield.

Azriel appeared in the kitchen. “How do you wish to travel there?”

I hesitated. “As much as I’d love to go on my bike, I’m thinking that when Hunter said ‘get there,’ she meant immediately.” If not sooner. I grabbed some gloves out of the cupboard under the sink, then stepped toward him. “Ready when you are, chief.”

His arms came around me, wrapping me in warmth. “Hardly an appropriate name when you never listen to a word I say, let alone do what I say.”

Though his tone was light, there was an edge that suggested there was more emotion behind the comment than he’d intended me to hear. I glanced up quickly, but his power surged, sweeping us from flesh to energy in a heartbeat before zipping us through the gray fields.

“Azriel—” I said, as we re-formed, but the rest of the sentence was cut off by a sudden and angry, “What the
fuck
are you doing here?”

And the shit just hit the fan,
I thought, but plastered a smile on my face as I turned around. Uncle Rhoan stood in the doorway of the ultramodern brick and concrete two-story house, his red hair glowing in the last remnants of daylight and gray eyes glinting with anger. Obviously, Hunter had
not
given me priority over the Directorate this particular time.

“I was asked here,” I said. “Believe me, I’m no happier about it than you are.”

He eyed me for a moment, expression disbelieving. “Are you saying Jack
ordered
you here?”

“Yes, I am.” And heaven help me if Jack didn’t back
that
statement up.

If Rhoan detected the lie, he gave no indication of it. He came down the steps and strode toward me. I held my ground in the face of his fierceness, even though all I wanted to do was run.

“Why the fuck would he do that? You’re
not
Directorate.”

No, I was something far worse—Hunter’s go-to girl when it came to all things hell related. And while Jack might be the senior vice president of the Directorate and the man who ran the guardian division, it was Hunter who held the reins of overall control. She also happened to be Jack’s sister, and he was undoubtedly wise enough not to go against her wishes—not even when it came to something that would ultimately cause him grief. Uncle Rhoan had
not
been a happy camper last time I’d been called in to help the Directorate, even though that had been totally accidental. The lunatic he’d been hunting just happened to be the same one I’d come across on the astral plane, and the creepy bastard had subsequently decided he only wanted to play his games with me.

It was a game that had almost killed me.

“Look, ring
him
if you want to chew out someone. I’m here in an advisory role only.”

Rhoan snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, Ris, because you know I love you to death, but what the hell can you give a murder investigation that I and everyone else at the Directorate cannot?”

“Hell is
precisely
what I can give you,” I replied, voice grim. Damn it, while I understood his anger stemmed from fear for my safety, it was fucking annoying to get chewed out over something I could
not
control. Not if I wanted to keep on enjoying my life, anyway. “Or rather, a working knowledge of what is—and isn’t—coming through the gates now that one has been opened. And then there’s Azriel.”

Rhoan’s gaze cut briefly to the man standing quietly at my back. “And whatever happened to the option of saying no? You’re not employed by the Directorate. They can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Yeah, but Hunter
could
—not that
that
was something I could admit to. I took a deep breath and released it slowly as I racked my brain for an answer that wasn’t going to get me yelled at too much more. In the end, I went with the truth—or as close to it as I was likely to get in this sort of situation.

“I agreed because if whatever—whoever—is committing these crimes
is
a denizen from hell, then it’s my damn fault that it’s out there.”

He continued to glare at me but, after a few minutes, muttered something under his breath and thrust a hand through his short hair. “I hate that you’re involved with the Directorate, however peripherally. They have a way of sucking you in deeper and deeper and never letting go. Neither Riley nor I want that sort of life for you.”

“I don’t want that sort of life for me, either.” I gave him the best fake smile I could manage. “Trust me, you’re welcome to the investigation. I’m just here to see what you might be dealing with.”

His expression remained uncertain. “You’re hiding something, Ris. I can smell it a mile off.”

“Honestly, I’m not.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, trusting
that
statement, too. But for now, I’ll let it drop. Come on.”

He spun and headed back up the steps. I let out a silent sigh of relief and followed, putting on the protective booties and gloves as he identified me to the hovering crime-scene recorder.

The inside of the two-story home was as modern as its outside. Crisp white walls, shiny wooden floors, bright abstract art, and leather and chrome furnishings. This time the murder had taken place in an upstairs bedroom rather than in a living space, but as with the first victim, this man was fully dressed and apparently hadn’t noticed the web being spun up his body.

Rhoan stopped at the end of the bed. I halted beside him, Azriel still a warm presence at my back. The man on the bed was a thin, graying individual who looked to be in his midsixties, and he was as modern in the way he dressed as he furnished his house. But the expression frozen onto his face was one of pleasure, and his stomach bore the two fist-sized slashes that had been evident on Wolfgang. I flared my nostrils, trying to find some hint of the odd alien musk that I’d smelled at the first murder scene, but either it had dissipated, or it was lost under the scent of all the crime men and women coming and going in the room.

“Did you get here first?” I asked, glancing at Rhoan.

“Yes.” He met my gaze. “Why?”

“Did you smell an unusual aroma? It’s similar to the musk of a shifter, but odder, if that makes sense.”

“It was faint, but yes.”

“What about at the first victim’s?”

“Also present.” His expression remained noncommittal, but the anger in him suddenly ramped up again. “How did you know about the scent when it’s not evident now?”

“Because, uh—” My voice faltered, and I cleared my throat, resisting the urge to step away from the anger that would undoubtedly follow if I finished that sentence. I knew he would never hurt me, but that didn’t make him any less scary at times like this.

“It is a smell common to many of the darker spirits who inhabit this world,” Azriel cut in smoothly. “Especially those who are also capable of shape-shifting.”

Oh, good reason,
I said to Azriel.
Thanks.

It is also the truth,
he replied. His mental tones were still frosty.

I sighed.
And just how long are you planning to remain annoyed at me over something so trivial, Azriel?

I do not know. For as long as it takes for you to regain common sense, perhaps.

You could be in for a long wait.

I am a reaper. Patience is part of our nature.

I snorted mentally.
Oh yeah, you’ve so totally proven that.

As you’ve said to me often enough, sarcasm does not become you.

“I do get the feeling,” Rhoan said, “that there’s a whole conversation happening that I know nothing about.”

I glanced at him. “I was just asking Azriel if he could tell whether we were dealing with a spirit or a demon.”

“And the answer?” His tone suggested he wasn’t believing
that
for a second, either.

“It’s not a demon, but he can’t confirm or deny the possibility of a spirit because they’re of this world rather than the other and therefore not his field of expertise.”

“Huh.” He crossed his arms. “Anything else you can tell us?”

I frowned, my gaze drifting up the body. The silken web that encased the victim had been leashed to the bed end rather than the floor this time, but otherwise it looked almost identical. I opened my mouth to ask if they’d found a Dark Soul business card in one of his pockets, then remembered I wasn’t supposed to know about that. Subterfuge, I thought, sucked.

“Is that wound on his stomach the only one?” I asked instead.

“Yes. And whatever was injected through those slashes liquefied every inch of his innards,” Rhoan said. “There’s nothing left but a hardened outer shell of skin.”

So it was definitely the same MO. “What about the victim? Is he human?”

“He’s a hawk-shifter. He’s also a perp with a long line of break-and-enter convictions behind him.”