Darkness Devours (41 page)

I frowned. “So if I somehow imagine getting whacked on the plane, my body can be bruised?”

“If the illusion is powerful enough, yes. And if you find yourself trapped there, you risk death.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Azriel said, before Adeline could, “flesh cannot survive great lengths of time without its soul. And while the astral body is not the entirety of the soul, if you find death when your astral being is not present in your body, then your soul is not complete and cannot move on. You would become one of the lost ones.”

“And here I was thinking it would be a walk in the park.” I swept a hand through my short hair and wished, just once, that something was. “Let’s get this done.”

She glanced past me for a moment, then rose. “Come with me, then.”

I followed her out of the living room and down the long hall, my footsteps echoing softly on her wooden floors. Azriel made no sound, although the heat of his presence burned into my spine and chased away the chill of apprehension.

Adeline stopped at the last door on the right and opened it. “Please take your shoes off.”

I did so as she stepped to one side and motioned for me to enter. The room was dark and smelled faintly of lavender and chamomile, and my bare feet disappeared into a thick layer of mats and silk.

“Lie down and make yourself comfortable.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Azriel. Though his face was almost classical in its beauty, it possessed the hard edge of a man who’d won more than his fair share of battles. He was shirtless, his skin a warm, suntanned brown and his abs well defined. The worn leather strap that held his sword in place emphasized the width of his shoulders, and the dark jeans that clung to his legs hinted at their lean strength. His stance was that of a fighter, a warrior—one who not only protected me, but who had saved me more than once. And would continue to do so for as long as I was of use to him.

Still, I couldn’t help mentally asking,
You’ll be here?

I’ll be here to protect your physical form, yes.
His thought ran like sunshine through my mind. I wasn’t telepathic in any way, shape, or form, but that didn’t matter when it came to Azriel. He could hear my thoughts as clearly as spoken words. Unfortunately, the only time I heard
his
thoughts was at moments such as this, when it was a deliberate act on his part.
But not on the plane. Astral travelers are of
this
world, not mine, so you are basically little more than a ghost to me. I cannot interact with you in any way.

Reaper rules?

Reaper rules.
He hesitated, and something flashed through the mismatched blue of his eyes. Something so bright and sharp that it made my breath hitch.
Be careful. It would be most… inconvenient… if you find death on the astral plane
.

Inconvenient?
I shucked off my jacket and tossed it to one side with a little more force than was necessary.
Yeah,
I guess it would be. I mean, who else would find the damn keys for you if something happened to me?

That,
he said, an edge riding his mental tone,
is an unfair statement.

Yeah, it was. But, goddamn it, if
I
was an inconvenience to him, then
he
was a vast source of frustration to me.
And
on more than one level. Was it any wonder that it occasionally got the better of me and resulted in a snippy remark?

That frustration is shared by us both, Risa.

I glanced at him sharply. His expression was its usual noncommittal self, but the slightest hint of a smile played about his lips. I snorted softly. If he
was
implying he was as sexually frustrated as I was, then he had only himself to blame. After all,
he
was the one determined to keep our relationship strictly professional now that desire had been acknowledged and acted upon. Although
how
he could ignore what still burned between us, I had no idea. I was certainly struggling.

“Risa,” Adeline said softly, “you must lie down before we can proceed.”

I did as she ordered, and the mats wrapped around me, warm and comforting. Adeline closed the door and the darkness engulfed us. The scents sharpened, slipping in with every breath and easing the tension in my limbs.

“Now,” she said, her voice at one with the serenity in the room, “to astral travel, you must achieve a sense of complete and utter relaxation.”

I closed my eyes and released awareness of everything and everyone around me, concentrating on nothing more than slowing my breathing. As the beat of my heart became more measured, warmth began to throb at my neck as the charm Ilianna—my best friend and housemate—had made me kicked into action. It was little more than a small piece of petrified wood to connect me to the earth, and two small stones—agate and serpentine—for protection, but it had saved my life when a spirit had attacked me on the gray
fields, and I’d been wearing it ever since. That it was glowing now meant it would protect me on the astral plane as fiercely as it did on the gray fields, and I was suddenly glad of that.

Though why I thought I might need that protection, I had no idea.

“Let your mind be the wind,” Adeline intoned. “Let it be without thought or direction, free and easy.”

A sense of peace settled around me. My breathing slowed even further, until I was on the cusp of sleep.

“A rope hangs above your chest. You cannot see it in the darkness, but it is there. Believe in it. When you are ready, reach for it. Not physically—metaphysically. Feel it in your hands. Feel the roughness of the fibers against your skin. Feel the strength within it.”

I reached up with imaginary hands and grasped the rope. It felt thick and real and as strong as steel.

“Ignore physical sensation and use the rope to pull yourself upright. Imagine yourself rising from your body and stepping free of all constraints.”

I gripped harder with my imaginary hands and pulled myself upward along the rope. Dizziness swept over me, seeming to come from the center of my chest. I kept pulling myself upright and the pressure grew until my whole body felt heavy. I ignored it as ordered, and every inch of me began to vibrate. Then, with a suddenness that surprised me, I was free and floating in the darkness above my prone form.

Only it wasn’t really dark. Adeline’s aura lit the room with a deep violet, and Azriel’s aura glowed an intense gold. Which surprised me—I’d have placed money that his would be the fierce white I saw on the fields. The dark tats that decorated his skin—the biggest of which resembled half of a dragon, with a wing that swept around his ribs from underneath his arm and brushed the left side of his neck—shimmered in the darkness and seemed to hold no distinct color.

Only that half dragon wasn’t actually a tat. It was a Dušan—a darker, more abstract brother to the one that had crawled onto my left arm and now resided within my flesh. They were designed to protect us when we walked the gray fields, and we’d been sent them by person or persons unknown—although Azriel suspected it was probably my father’s doing. He was one of the few left in this world—or the next—who had the power to make them.

Valdis, the sword at Azriel’s back, dripped the same blue fire on the astral plane as she did in the real world, and it made me wonder whether my own sword Amaya would be visible on this plane given that she was usually little more than a deadly shadow.

I shoved the thought aside, then closed my eyes and conjured the image of the area where our ghost Frank Logan had met his doom.

In an instant I was standing in front of the long, gigantic shed that was the Central Pier function center. On the night Logan had been murdered, this place had been filled with life and sound, and the pavement lined with taxis and limos waiting to pick up passengers. Now it was little more than a vague ghost town—literally
and
figuratively.

I looked around. The first thing I saw was a man watching me. He was tall, with regal features and a body that was as lean as a whip. A fighter, I thought, staring at him.

As our gazes met, humor seemed to touch his lips and he bowed slightly.

I frowned, and thought,
Do I know you?

No, but I know you rather well. I’ve been following you around for weeks.

His voice was cool, without inflection, but not unpleasant.

Why would you—
I stopped and suddenly realized just who he was.
You’re the Cazador who Madeline Hunter has following me?

I certainly am, ma’am
.

I blinked at his politeness, although I wasn’t really sure why it surprised me. I
had
grown up hearing tales about the men and women who formed the ranks of the Cazadors—the high vampire council’s own personal hit squad—and I supposed I’d just expected them all to be fierce and fearsome.

He gave me another slight bow.
Markel Sanchez, at your service.

Well, forgive me for saying this, Markel, but you’re a pain in my ass and I’d rather not have you following me around, on this plane or in life.

Trust me, ma’am, this is not my desire, either. But it has been ordered and I must obey.

I raised imaginary eyebrows.
Meaning even the Cazadors are wary of Hunter?

If they are wise and value their lives, yes.

Which said a lot about Hunter’s power. She might be the head honcho of the Directorate of Other Races, but she was also a high-ranking member of the high vampire council and, I suspected, plotting to take it over completely.

I need to speak to a ghost. You’re not going to interfere, are you?

I’m here to listen and report. Nothing more, nothing less.

I nodded and turned away from him. A grayish figure stood not far away. He was standing sideways to me, looking ahead rather than at me. He was a big man with well-groomed hair, a Roman nose, and a sharp chin. Frank Logan.

I imagined myself standing beside him, and suddenly I was. If only it were this easy to travel in Aedh form.

Mr. Logan, I need to speak with you.

He jumped, then swung around so violently that tendrils of smoke swirled away from his body.

“Who the hell are you?” He wasn’t using thought, and his words were crisp and clear, echoing around me like the clap of thunder.

I’m Risa Jones. I was standing nearby when you were murdered.

His expression showed a mix of disbelief and confusion. “I’m dead? How can I be dead? I can
see
you. I can see the buildings around me. I can’t be dead. Damn it, where’s my limo? I want to go home.”

He was never going home. Never moving on. He’d died before his time, and no reaper had been waiting to collect his soul. He was one of the lost ones—doomed to roam the area of death for eternity.

But I suspected that nothing I could say would ever convince him of this, and I wasn’t about to even try—that could take far more time than I probably had on this plane.
Mr. Logan, I need to speak to you about John Nadler.

He frowned. “I’m sorry, young woman, but I can’t talk to you about clients—”

Mr. Logan, John Nadler is dead—murdered.
I imagined a cop’s badge, then showed it to him. If he wanted to believe he was still alive, then I wasn’t going to waste time arguing with him.
We’d appreciate your helping us willingly, Mr. Logan, but we will subpoena you if required.

His confusion deepened. “When was Nadler murdered? I was talking to him only today.”

Logan’s “today” had actually been several days ago.
Which is why we need to speak with you. We believe you could be the last person to have seen him alive.

Or, at least, the last person to have seen the face-shifter who’d killed the real Nadler and assumed his identity. The real Nadler had been dead—and frozen—for many, many years, and
that
was the body the cops now had.

The Nadler Logan he had known had used Nadler’s money and influence to purchase nearly all the buildings around West Street in Clifton Hill—a street that just happened to cross one of the most powerful ley-line intersections in Melbourne. It was also an intersection that seemed very tied up in the desperate scramble to find the portal
keys. According to Azriel, the intersections could be used to manipulate time, reality, or fate, and it was likely that whoever had stolen the first key from us—or, rather, me—had used the intersection to access the gray fields and permanently open the first portal.

Suggesting the face-shifter was either a sorcerer himself or he worked for someone who was. Only those well versed in magic could use the ley lines.

Of course,
why
the hell anyone would want to weaken the only thing that stood between us and the hordes of hell, I had no idea. Not even Azriel could answer that one.

But we’d obviously gotten too close to uncovering who the face-shifter was, so he’d stepped out of Nadler’s life and into a new one. Unless Logan could reveal something about the man he’d known as Nadler, our search was going to be right back at the beginning.

“I’m not sure I can help you,” Logan said. “He was just a client. I didn’t know much about him on a personal level.”

We’re not interested in his personal life, but rather his business one.
I hesitated.
What can you tell me about the deal he made with the heirs of James Trilby and Garvin Appleby?

Trilby and Appleby were the two other members of the consortium that the fake Nadler had formed to purchase all the land around West Street. Their heirs had decided to sue the consortium—and therefore John Nadler, who had, on their death, become soul owner—for a bigger piece of the land pie. They’d reached an out-of-court settlement the day before Nadler had pulled the plug on his stolen identity.

“I’m not sure how that deal—”

Please, Mr. Logan, just answer the question.

He sighed and thrust a hand through his hair. The action stirred the ghostly strands, making them whirl into the ether before settling back down.

From somewhere in the distance came a gentle vibration,
and the sensation crept around me uneasily, making the shadowy world surrounding us tremble. It almost felt like the beginnings of a quake, but was that even possible on the astral plane? Even as I thought about it, the shadows around me began to quiver, and Adeline’s warning ran through my mind. I took a deep breath, imagining calmness. The shadowy world around us stilled, but the distant vibration continued. It was a weird sensation—and felt like trouble. I forced myself to ignore it and returned my attention to Logan.