The master bedroom was twice the size of mine and, like the rest of the place, pin-neat – almost sterile. The first time I’d been in here there’d been little evidence that anyone actually used this room, despite the clothes in the vast walk-in wardrobe and the pair of intricately carved Chinese sideboards that had sat in the middle of the wardrobe and radiated magic. A magic I had not wanted to go near.
My gaze swept the bedroom but little had changed other than the faint layer of dust now coating most of the shiny surfaces. It was obviously the maid’s week off.
I walked across to the wardrobe, pushed open the double doors, and discovered emptiness. All the designer shoes and dresses, all the expensive but old-fashioned men’s suits and shirts, everything was gone. As were the sideboards. Only the magic they’d held lingered, skittering across my skin like mites, stinging lightly.
“Well, shit.” I stopped several feet inside the room and thrust my hands on my hips. “Looks like we’re late to the party again.”
And while Azriel might have told me to stop with the self-recrimination, this was definitely my fault. If I’d pulled my finger out instead of wallowing in self-pity, Lauren might not have escaped us so easily.
“She may have fled this place, but she will not have gone too far. She is too involved in whatever the other dark sorcerer has planned to run.”
I glanced at him. “You read her mind?”
“No. But she obviously held Lucian’s full confidence, and the standing stone we found in that storage locker ultimately led here. That suggests deep involvement.”
“I guess it’s unfortunate the locker is destroyed.” As was the woman who’d rented it. She’d been caught in the blast that had razed the entire building and killed at least a half dozen other people.
Of course, while I had no doubt that the body found in the smoking ruins of that storage locker did belong to Genevieve Sands, the question that had to be answered was, was it the same Genevieve Sands we’d seen exiting the place, or had we interviewed someone who’d assumed her identity?
“The stone at the storage place might have been destroyed, but it is possible the one at the Razan’s place remains,” Azriel commented.
I frowned. “Would the Razan still be alive given Lucian is dead?”
“If they were Lucian’s Razan, then no, they would not.”
“We should check.”
“Yes.” His gaze met mine, his expression holding an echo of the frustration that ran through me. “It is also possible Stane was able to get surveillance in here.”
“Possibly. I want to see him anyway, because I want to check the surveillance tapes for the storage unit.”
Azriel frowned. “Why?”
“Something the receptionist said before she died strikes me as odd.”
“She didn’t say much before she died.”
“She might not have said much, but she did say, ‘You changed again.’” I met his gaze. “Why would she say that? The only other time she saw me was when we went in there to check out the storage locker that first time, and I’d face-shifted, so it wasn’t even me she was seeing.”
“That is true,” Azriel said. “But you are not the only face shifter in Melbourne. And remember, the sorcerer is more than likely a face shifter.”
“Yeah, but he’s male. He shouldn’t be able to take on the form of a female.”
“‘Shouldn’t’ doesn’t mean he can’t.”
Unfortunately, that was all too true. I scanned the room a final time, and caught sight of something glinting at the base of the wardrobe that had held all the men’s clothing.
Frown deepening, I walked over and bent to pick it up. It was an elongated, hexagon-shaped cuff link, the setting thick gold that bore intricate scrollwork with a huge sapphire dominating its center. I didn’t know much about cuff links, but I knew my stones, and this one was worth a fortune. It wasn’t new, either, because the fixed back showed signs of wear. I turned it around. Two initials – RJ – and underneath the letters sat what looked like a half-moon. I held it up so Azriel could see it.
He raised an eyebrow. “And this will help us how?”
“It’s handmade, and there’s a maker’s mark on the back.” I tucked it into my purse. “If we can track the maker down, then maybe they could give us the details of the person they sold them to.”
It was a long shot, but long shots were all we really had.
“Shall we head to the Razans’ place next?”
“I guess.” I walked back across the room. “What will we do if the Razan are alive, though?”