Watcher of the Dark: A Jeremiah Hunt Supernatual Thriller (The Jeremiah Hunt Chronicle) (12 page)

“Why am I here?” she repeated. “Perhaps I just wanted to see you.”

Right. Like the lion playing with the gazelle before it eats it for lunch.

I shook my head, wondered if she could see it in the darkness, and then decided that yeah, she probably could.

“Seriously, why are you here?”

Ilyana got up from the bed so abruptly that I thought she was going to lose it, but all she did was toss my clothes at me from the small dresser.

“We’ve got another job to do, let’s go.”

I caught my clothes, reached for the blankets, and stopped.

“Um … would you mind?” I asked.

Ilyana looked at me.

“Mind what?” she asked.

“Turning around so I can get dressed.”

“Why?”

I stared at her. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me to turn around?”

This was getting ridiculous. I didn’t know if she truly didn’t understand a concept like common courtesy or the need to not embarrass ourselves or if she was just playing with me.

Deciding that I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of making me uncomfortable, I threw off the sheets, got out of bed, and proceeded to get dressed right there in front of her. Her gaze roamed over my body as I did so, taking in the tattoos and the scars, but she didn’t say anything about either while she waited for me to finish.

It was only when I was completely dressed and headed out the door that she said, “I think I like you better the other way.”

I pretended not to hear her. The last thing I needed was a sexual relationship with a half-human, half-demon hybrid that ate spectres for breakfast and tossed the heads of vampires around like baseballs.

Rivera was waiting for us by the car when we came out the front door. Seconds later Perkins and Grady joined us as well.

“Hail, hail the gang’s all here,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, but no one laughed.

I could tell this was going to be another fun outing.

We all piled into the car and got on our way.

*   *   *

The house was high in the Hollywood Hills and sat behind an eight-foot security wall of brick and stone. At first I thought we’d have to scale the walls, but I was thinking far too literally. The entrance had one of those keypads on a little stand near the gate; those with the right access key could flash the card in front of the pad and, when it was properly read and authorized, simply wait for the gate to be opened automatically. Rivera drove up, rolled down the window, and placed his hand flat against the pad.

There was a bright flash, a smell like scorched ozone, and then the gate began to roll slowly open.

As we drove through, I glanced back at the keypad. There wasn’t much left of it beyond a smoking, twisted hunk of metal.

The house sat at the end of the long, sloping drive. There was a garage to the right whose door must have been linked to the gate, for it was almost finished rising as we pulled into view. Rivera ignored the garage, however, choosing to park out in front of the main entrance.

We’d been on two of these little excursions so far and each time we’d encountered something that wasn’t all that happy with our general presence, from the spectre in the church crypt to the presence of the Nosferatu in the basement of the murder house. All of us, except perhaps Ilyana, were a bit tense as a result as we got out of the car and headed for the front door.

Grady tried the handle and found the door locked. Without a word he pulled a set of lock picks out of his inner coat pocket and got to work. It took him less than a minute to breach the door and another ninety seconds to bypass the alarm system from the control pad just inside the entryway.

A minute and a half to defeat a state-of-the-art security system? The owner, this Durante guy Fuentes was talking about the other night I suspected, should have saved his money and just bought a dog.

We all knew the drill by now so Rivera didn’t even have to say anything once we were inside. Perkins stepped to the middle of the foyer as we all gave him room to work. He bent to the task with the attention and energy he’d used the time before, but after several minutes of him turning in place and staring blankly at the walls, it was clear something was wrong.

“Today would be nice, Perkins,” Grady said.

Perkins frowned without opening his eyes and tried again.

After a few minutes of us standing around in silence, he said, “There’s something blocking…”

Rivera didn’t hesitate. “Take a look, Hunt.”

Right.

I slipped my sunglasses off my face and triggered my ghostsight.

Technically speaking, I could have left the sunglasses on; they don’t really interfere with my view when I am looking at the world in this particular fashion. Sometimes, though, you need to act in ways that make sense to you rather than in ways that make you question the whole basis of your reality. It made sense to me to take off my sunglasses so that’s what I did.

There were no ghosts here, or, at least, none that I could see at that moment, but there was definitely some magick being utilized. The walls of the room were covered in a shimmering silver glow and everywhere I looked I saw the same thing.

“Try it again,” I told Perkins and this time I watched as he did so. Just as he had in the murder house, he called forth these twisting, turning tendrils of energy and sent them out questing for the object he was looking for. I wondered if he even knew this was how his power worked, then I decided that it didn’t matter. One way or another he managed to find what he was looking for and that was the important thing.

Except here, every time the tendrils tried to reach beyond this room into the next, the silver glow pushed them back and didn’t allow them any further activity. It was like seeing a bolt of electricity grounded, its energy stolen.

“He’s right,” I said to Rivera. “There some kind of mystical energy field surrounding the entire room and keeping Perkins from finding whatever it is he’s looking for.”

“So let’s try the next room,” Grady said and began moving in that direction, but I stopped him.

“I’m afraid it’s there as well. As far as I can tell, it’s in every room. Maybe even covering the entire building.”

Rivera closed his eyes, extended his hands on either side of him. He must have discovered the same thing I did, for he cursed several times under his breath as he examined this room and the next.

When he came back he said, “All right, we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. The entire building seems to have been warded, so we’re going to have to split up and search the place manually. If you find anything unusual, let either Verikoff or myself know. Questions?”

He looked at me as he said it, but I didn’t respond. They had yet to answer any of the questions I needed answered, so I didn’t see any point in asking any more. I knew we were looking for another piece of the “Key,” whatever that might actually be, and guessed that it probably resembled the other two we had already collected. I’d wander around, preferably away from the others, and look for it even as I was doing my best to learn as much about the individual who owned the place as possible.

Both Fuentes and Rivera had mentioned someone by the name of Durante, and I was willing to bet that this had been his home. If that was the case, then perhaps some incriminating information about Durante’s rivals, namely Fuentes, might be stashed somewhere on the premises. If I could find that, I’d be in a much better position to demand my release and an end to any pending threats against my friends.

We split up, each of us going in a different direction. The house was more a mansion than a home, with three floors and multiple wings, so there was plenty of space for each of us to individually investigate.

Rivera sent me up to the second level, near the back of the house, where I found a variety of bedrooms. Probably figured I’d get in the least amount of trouble back there. I refrained from turning on any lights and left the curtains drawn where I found them that way, wanting to protect my ability to see. If I found a room where the curtains were open, I pulled them shut. After coming across a couple of similar-looking rooms it became clear that these were, in all likelihood, guest rooms. Some looked recently cleaned, others not to have even been opened in the last several months.

One in particular, however, turned out to be fairly interesting.

Unlike the others, this one looked to have been used more recently. In fact, it appeared to be used on a regular basis, if the men’s clothing in the closet and dresser was any indication. The styles were all recent and there was even a dry cleaning tag from two weeks ago sitting atop the dresser.

But what interested me the most were the framed photographs hanging on the wall, as well as the three standing on the nightstand.

I couldn’t see what was in any of them. It is a strange quirk of my condition that photographs always appear as blank images to me unless I am viewing them through someone else’s sight. It could be one of the living or it could be one of the dead; it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was seeing them through eyes that weren’t my own.

The person who had stayed in this room had been close to the owner, whose name I suspected of being Durante. I didn’t know what had happened to Durante or why he wasn’t here now, but if I could find someone who had been close to him in the past then I might learn some of those answers. And those answers would, no doubt, lead me to an understanding of just what Fuentes and Rivera were trying to accomplish by taking control of this key.

In order to view the pictures, I was going to need some help.

I stood up and moved to the center of the room. I raised my face to the ceiling and extended my arms out to either side, palms up. Closing my eyes, I called out softly.

“Come to me, Whisper. Come to me.”

As I called her name, I pictured her doing what I wanted, having learned over time that a bit of positive reinforcement went a long way to helping the summons to be successful.

I repeated my request, over and over again, until I felt a hand slip into mine and knew that I was no longer alone.

16

“Lend me your eyes,” I asked her. I kept my voice low, not wanting any of the others to know I had company.

There was a moment of dizziness and then the taste of bitter ashes flooded my mouth and I could see again.

As was my habit, I looked down to check on her, noting for what seemed the thousandth time the vacant way that her eyes wandered thanks to my commandeering her vision. As always, I was struck by her resemblance to my dead daughter, Elizabeth. She had the same dark hair, the same bright eyes. Even that impish little grin Elizabeth used to wear. I would be forever thankful to Whisper for the role she had played in helping my daughter find her final rest, and the similarities between the two were a constant reminder of all that had happened between us.

Satisfied that all was as it should be, I turned my attention to the photographs. They were of a variety of scenes and locations, but the same two men appeared in every single one of them.

The first was an energetic-looking Italian in his late thirties with dark hair and a wide smile. He was actually the focus of many of the photos and it was clear that he was some sort of public figure, appearing at a variety of what looked to be media or charity events. In more than half the photos he was shaking someone’s hand and smiling at the camera.

Given what I’d heard about him so far, I guessed that this was Durante.

It was the second man, however, that I was more interested in. Fuentes had mentioned Durante’s aide, and I assumed that the blond-haired, blue-eyed man that appeared in the backdrop of many of the shots was that person. He was tall and thinner than Durante, with a snappier and less conservative style of dress. One might even say flamboyant. He seemed to have his gaze focused on Durante in nearly every picture.

As I glanced over the collection, I noticed a photo standing off by itself on the edge of the nightstand. Walking over, I saw that it showed the two men standing together on the deck of a sailboat, drinks in hands, arms on each other’s shoulders. It could just have been a photo of two friends having a good time, but something about the way they were standing together made me think that perhaps there had been something more between them. It would also explain why Fuentes thought the man might have the Key.

I decided then and there that I’d find him first.

I slipped the photo out of its frame and folded it in half before stashing it in my pocket. I was about to contain my search when I heard it.

Screaming.

It was a long, horrid wail that rose in pitch and volume, the kind of thing you might expect to hear in a medieval torture chamber, not in a well-to-do mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

At least, not usually.

Shouts erupted over the screaming. I thought I recognized Rivera’s voice and possibly Ilyana’s too.

It seemed my companions were in trouble.

I could have left them to whatever disaster they’d stumbled into this time, but my conscience wouldn’t let me. Perkins was just as much a prisoner of Fuentes’s ambition as I was and there were some indications that Grady and Ilyana might fall into that category as well. If any of that were true, if they had been forced to work for Fuentes in the same manner I had, I couldn’t just leave them to their fate.

I turned to Whisper. “I still need your help,” I told her. I wasn’t going to be of use to anyone if I couldn’t see what was going on, so I needed Whisper to stay with me and allow me to keep borrowing her vision. Thankfully she seemed to understand, for she nodded and gripped my hand tighter, silently signaling for me to lead the way. I smiled, wondered how I’d ended up with such a loyal little girl as one of my closest friends, and took off down the hall, following the sound of the screams.

The cries grew more distinct as I got closer, and I realized that my initial impressions had been correct. Something was happening to Perkins and the others were doing what they could to help him, though it didn’t sound like they were having much success. As I rounded a corner and skidded to a stop at the entrance to the room in which they stood, I discovered why.